On My Own
by ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: So you all think you know Maureen Johnson? Think again. The true story behind the drama queen everyone loves to hate. Please R&R!
1. Prologue

**A/N: This story is mostly musical-based (most elements from the movie are _not_ here), told post-Rent with flashbacks way before Rent. While writing it I came up with some new twists and theories about the oh-so-overdone plot, so bear with me, give me a chance. I hope you won't be disappointed. Also, since these are mostly snapshots from Maureen's life bunched together, if you get the feeling that some parts move to fast and others too slow, it's kind of on purpose, because there were some things I wanted to focus on whereas other things just had to be said, mostly so that the chronology would make sense. So no flames about that because I'm aware of it. Otherwise reviews, suggestions and ways of improvement are always welcome!**

Disclaimer- the Rent characters and plot-line are the eternal property of Jonathan Larson. Along the way there's gonna be some other stuff that are not mine, like references to songs and musicals, so I'll state it once instead of repeating it over and over- I don't own 'em, I rent.

**On My Own**

**Prologue**

The orchestra played its final notes and the curtain fell upon the stage. As the stage-lights died out, the audience exploded. Their clamors echoed from wall to wall in the enormous theater house, loud and deafening. Then the main lights flickered on, signaling the beginning of the intermission. People all over turned to speak with one another, beaming with excitement. This was, by all means, one of the most successful opening nights Broadway had ever witnessed. It would definitely be remembered for a very long time.

She ran off-stage, following other actors and dancers in colorful costumes back to their dressing-rooms. In spite of the hateful mixture of sweat and makeup running down her face, the hair that stuck to her forehead, the heavy dress that was clinging to her body, making the heat even more unbearable, she had the most brilliant smile on, lightening her face with a remarkable glow. The adrenaline was buzzing in her ears, beating simultaneously with her heart, making her feel alive. This was what she loved best; being high with adrenaline, sweeping the audience off its feet, making it beg for more, hearing its applause way after it ended, never wishing it to fade away. For her, as for everyone else in the business, it was an addiction of the worst kind.

"_Amazing_ first act, Johnson!" someone called in her direction as she went down the stairs. Her smile got impossibly wider as she shook her head in the man's direction, acknowledging his compliment. She continued to make her way through actors and stage-technicians to her dressing-room. It was her first time in the leading role, after so many times she ended up as a chorus girl or a useless understudy, usually for some unimportant role where there was never a real need in a replacement. All around her, people were talking about what had just taken place onstage. The words were whirling in her head, familiar yet somehow more meaningful than ever before, making her want to bounce up and down with excitement, like a little girl on Christmas morning. _Terrific performances… Midnight reviews… Tony nominations…_

"Sir, you can't go through here!" The voice, warning and persistent, shook her from her reverie. She recognized it to be Adam's, one of the theater's security men. As they were more or less the same age, they were always flirting with one another, but always as a way to release the tension during the intensive period of final rehearsals, rather than something serious. And both of them were very aware of that. He was always nice to her, making sure that she was okay and bringing her bottles of water during long rehearsals. And he always addressed her as "Miss Johnson," never by her first name, which was something she really liked. She stopped and listened. It sounded as if someone was sneaking backstage again. Some reporters tried to do that on their preview night couple of weeks back. It didn't end well.

"I need to see her!" said another voice, kind of urgently.

"Sir, if you won't step back, I'm afraid we'll have to call security," said a third voice.

"You _are_ security!" Her eyebrows knotted together. She knew this voice, she realized. It was one of those voices she wished to leave behind her. "Look, I'm not some psycho fan of hers, I just need to-"

She turned, and stared. He stared back. Gazes locked, chocolate brown with icy blue. It felt as if everything stopped still as she approached the two tough-looking men who held him back, and gave them a questioning look.

"Miss Johnson, do you know this man?" asked Adam.

She hesitated, and stole a glace at him again. He looked just as she remembered, except for his eyes. There was something very old and haunted in them. It should have bothered her, as his eyes have always been so youthful and alert, but right now she just dismissed it. She had no idea how he managed to get in there, or why he even bothered, but she definitely didn't need this when she had a very emotional second act ahead of her. She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. "No. I don't."

"Maureen?" he asked in amazement, staring at her in disbelief. "Maureen, what are you-"

"We won't ask you again, sir. Please step back now."

She turned her back and hurried to her dressing-room, his protests leading her way, his eyes drilling holes in her back. He was calling her name once, twice, and then his voice ceased, as if he understood he'd better leave.

She found a refuge in her dressing-room. She closed the door and leaned against it. One of the benefits of having the lead on a Broadway show was the fact that you got your very own dressing-room. And boy, did she need privacy now. She moved away from the door, reminding herself she had less than 15 minutes to change for the beginning of the second act. Luckily, she wouldn't have to go onstage in the first 20 minutes or so, which allowed her some time to calm down.

As she zipped up her dress, she realized she was shaking. Damn him. She hated when people had the power to get to her that way. He was one of few people who always did and she didn't think he even knew it. She tried not to think about it, but all her thoughts stirred to this very direction.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, letting her hair fall down her shoulders. If she'd close her eyes, she'd remember the first time she had met them, those people who became closer to her than her own family, who changed her life from end to end in a way she never believed was possible. Was it really so long ago? She tried to figure out how many years have passed since she had last seen them all, and realized that she couldn't. No more than five years, she told herself eventually, but even that felt like forever.

She looked around her dressing-room, as if for the first time. Since it was opening night, the small room was packed with flowers and "good luck" cards. Her costumes hung on a rack at the far end of the room, except for the dress she had just taken off and left on the back of the couch.

_How did I get here, how the hell?_

She got what she wanted. This has always been her dream. Broadway's glory, a leading role in what was sure to be the next big hit, a possible Tony nomination, and she was just nearing her 30th year. It happened. Broadway was finally ready for her. So how come it felt so wrong? She figured that getting your dreams wasn't so exciting as you hoped it would. But did she regret the step she took? She wasn't sure. This felt right. This was what she meant to be all her life. It felt as if she could never be something else, she could never have done anything else. Besides, she was never the type of person to regret choices she has made. And why would she? She believed that each choice was right, in its own way.

Well, except for some choices maybe, she thought, her thought shifting towards what had just happened, in spite of herself. She shook her head, as if to get the sight of his haunted eyes, his amazed and broken expression out of her head, but there it stayed, clear and vivid. It felt as if she would remember it for the rest of her life.

She didn't ask him to walk back into her life so suddenly, she reminded herself, as if she needed some sort of justification. She made her choice. And she wasn't the same person she was five years ago. She wasn't ready to delve into her past. She had a lot on her mind as it was. He had _no_ right to come back like that after he made it pretty clear he didn't want anything to do with her. She came to give him a second chance, to give that chance to herself, and he didn't take it. So she moved on, and did it in the only way she knew, on her own. And now it was just too late. He lost his chance.

And so did she, she thought sadly, closing her eyes.


	2. She's the One

**1- She's the One**

_Ohh! Sigh! Give her your attention! Do I really have to mention, she's the… she's the… she's… the… one…_

"Maureen, turn the volume of this thing down!"

"We won't ask you twice, young lady, turn it off already!"

She rolled her eyes and waited until the last notes of the music ceased before she turned the tape off. She knew what was coming next. She snatched a magazine from the bedside and flopped on her bed. There were steps down the hall and a knock on her door.

"Come in," she called in her sweetest tone as she was flipping through the magazine absent-mindedly. The door opened and her brother Anthony walked in. They were never close, for Anthony was twelve years older than her. It was no secret at the Johnson family that her parents never planned to have her. She was an accident, as simple as that. So often did she feel like one, too.

"Maureen, will you please keep the music down, me and dad are working on something," her brother said, his arms crossed on his chest, giving her that arrogant, scorning look she despised. He left home for law school several years back, but since he graduated and joined her father's firm it felt as if he never left. And she couldn't do anything without him criticizing her.

"What music?" she asked, looking at him innocently over the page of the magazine.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Stop acting like such a child all the time."

"Then you stop treat me like one. I'm fuckin' 18, Anthony, I can do what I want."

Her brother shot her a cold glare. "Watch your language."

"Screw you Anthony, you're not my dad, you can't tell me how to live my life!"

"But _I_ can," said a third voice, as her father walked into the room. He looked at her severely. "And I will not tolerate this behavior in my house."

She sat on her bed, now annoyed. "_Your_ house? I thought it was my house too!"

"Is that the reason you walk around, doing whatever you want?" From behind her father, her brother was nodding in agreement. It was obvious that he felt the same. Damn him. He really had to get himself a life; maybe that way he'd stop sticking his nose in hers. Why couldn't he finally meet someone, marry her and settle down in Australia or something? "You will do what you are told when you are told. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"I sure hope so," said her father, and left her room, following Anthony's lead.

Once the door closed behind them, she rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't wait to get out of there. She was about to leave for college at the end of the summer, and she was counting the days until she would. That in itself led to one of the worst arguments she ever had with her parents. They expected her to follow her brother and father's way and go to law school, then join the family firm. Yet as far as she was concerned, it was the most absurd thing that could have possibly happen. She could never imagine herself as a lawyer, not to mention working side by side with Anthony, ugh. Besides, she had other plans. That's right. She has already decided what she wanted to do with her life, and it had nothing to do with law school.

It all started not so long ago, on her 16th birthday, when she went to New York City with her aunt Sharon and her cousin Shirley. It was her parents' gift for her birthday, but the best part was that they couldn't accompany her there, since it was just the time for their annual visit in Europe. Aunt Sharon and her daughter were always better company anyway.

They went to see Annie on Broadway. She had never seen a show on Broadway before, but she heard a lot about it from her Aunt Sharon, who was a huge Broadway fan for years. The lights faded in the theater, the curtain rustled as it opened, the orchestra started playing… and the magic began.

Magic. There was absolutely no other word to describe it. It was love of first sight. She got the stage-bug, and she got it bad. When the show ended she remained in her seat, transfixed, as people all around her made their way out of the theater. She hardly heard her aunt calling her name.

She'd go back there someday, she told herself couple of days later, as they left the city that never slept. She'd go back and be someone. She'd be the one on that stage one day. She smiled as the sight of New York was fading in the distance, melting into the sunset. Broadway had no idea what it is up against.

She spent hours babysitting no matter how much she hated it, and put the money she earned in her old piggy-bank which she kept at the top shelf of her closet. She listened to every Broadway soundtrack she could put her hands on. She auditioned for the school production of Guys and Dolls, got the role of Adelaide, and managed to shift the audience's attention from the leading roles into her slightly smaller one. Her parents dismissed her growing interest in the performing arts. They treated it as a phase, something that was sure to pass, like… girls and horses. This was why they were caught completely off-guard when she told them of her plans to apply for an acting school in New York, instead of going to law school.

Her father wouldn't hear of it, he said. If she didn't want to study law, she should at least apply to a "normal" college and study something "reasonable" like economy or biology. Her mother agreed, and disappeared in her bedroom with another migraine. Anthony took their side of course, and gave her a whole lecture on how they were all doing it for her own good.

She didn't make it through the audition of the New York acting school, which was a painful blow for her and a winning card for her parents, who claimed that if she missed her chance she probably wasn't very good at it. They always knew how to make her feel completely useless. By then she was so depressed and so mad at them, that the only thing she wanted was leave the house, and the sooner the better. The first college that accepted her was in Massachusetts, and this was where she intended to go. American History didn't sound so thrilling, but she would have gone to study math if it was her chance to get out of the house. Besides, she could always take some drama courses every now and again. Maybe even voice lessons. And then when she'd graduate… who knew, she thought, a determined smile curling on her lips. Yeah. She'd be just fine.

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The first year of college flashed by. As much as she hated to admit it, school has been pretty fascinating. She did well in all her courses, which kind of surprised her, because she didn't spend much time studying at her dorm room or at the library. The drama club sucked badly, so she gave it up, telling herself she was way better, which was probably true. She never had a chance to take those voice lessons as she planned, since her college never offered any. Making friends was always pretty easy for her, and although most of her fellow students were extremely self-centered, she did manage to find two or three people to hang out with. One of them was Belinda Woodhouse, her roommate. A student of Philosophy, Belinda wasn't very pretty or popular, almost invisible in the students' standards, definitely not the usual type she would normally hang out with, but she turned out to be nice and loyal, and they got along really well.

She didn't go back home during the summer vacation. The campus was never deserted, not even during the summer, and she actually had a great time. There was a party almost every evening, and she happened to meet some really cute guys during that time. She was always a flirt, it was never a secret. People always looked at her wherever she went, and she always flirted back because, well, she liked the attention. She dated a few of those she met at the parties, but never more than three times because they always ended up boring the hell out of her. And she wasn't looking for anything serious, just a good time. She wasn't the girl for long-termed relationships. She was too young for that, she figured. She had to have her fun.

She started a new hobby of scribbling verses in a small notebook she always carried in her bag. At the beginning she did it because those verses popped in her head and kept her distracted, and she had to let them out somehow. And then, as she was moving from single verses into what had the potential to be an actual song, and when she couldn't help from matching a tune to the lyrics, she started taking writing more seriously, thinking it might serve her well someday when she'd move to New York.

When the August heat became unbearable, she applied to some summer courses to pass the time, one of them being a seminar in philosophy Belinda warmly recommended on before she left for Boston. She could never get philosophy, it was always so damn abstract, and yet she thought she'd give it a shot. She could always blame Belinda for making her go there, if it'd be really horrible.

She couldn't believe her eyes when she walked into the auditorium on the morning of the first lesson. The place was packed. In the front, close to the stage, people were standing. Who was that guy, that so many people were willing to give up a day by the pool to be in his lecture, she wondered as she found a seat at the back. Belinda said he was a guest lecturer in their college, a computer genius from MIT who lately wrote a sensational article about computer-age philosophy. Well, he'd better be good, she told herself, taking a notepad out of her backpack, as the noise at the auditorium gradually ceased. A man was making his way to the front of the stage. He was tall and well-built, and had a _gorgeous_ smile, she suddenly noticed, leaning slightly forward as this realization hit her. He introduced himself as Professor Tom Collins. He had a rich, deep voice, and although there were more than 200 people in the auditorium, he hardly used the mic.

She had no idea what he said during the 90 minutes of the lecture. She just sat there, distracted by the velvety sound of his voice, letting her thoughts be carried away in far away, dangerous directions. The next class she found a seat at the front row, right in front of the mic. Sitting so close, he looked even better. She smiled to herself as she was scribbling notes of what was said. She decided that one way to catch the cute professor's attention was to pass his course on a high grade. By the next class, she dressed a bit nicer than usual and did what she had never done before; she started to show interest in what was said in class, asking questions and contradicting other people's opinions (which she actually kind of liked), making sure he'd know who she was.

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"That will be all for today, unless you've got further questions," he said. She raised her head from her notepad, realizing she had been daydreaming for the past 15 minutes or so. Professor Collins looked around. No one spoke. "Okay then. I'll see you all next week." She could swear he looked straight at her as he said it. It was their 7th class, and she still didn't find the courage to come up there at the end of the class and start a conversation. But she knew she'd have to do it soon, because sitting there thinking about it from the beginning of class to its very end was extremely distracting.

So she got up, determined and confident, straightened her short skirt and made her way upstage. He was surrounded by several students who came over to ask him questions. By the time they left, the auditorium was nearly deserted. She hesitated, but only for a second, before she walked over to him, her heels clinging against the parquet of the stage. He was stuffing his bag with some books and papers, and didn't seem to notice her, until she was several steps away. He raised his head, as if surprised someone was still there.

"Oh, Miss Johnson. Still here, I see," he said, flashing her a heart-melting grin.

"Still here," she replied, giving him her best smile.

"I was very impressed by your paper, by the way. Didn't have a chance to tell you before. Very, uhh… creative. Is philosophy your major?"

"No. American History."

"Oh. How is that going?"

"It's fine. I mean, so far."

"So what can I do for you?" he asked, motioning her to follow him downstage. She did, and they made their way up the stairs towards the exit.

At first she thought to make up a question about today's lecture, or ask for his help in their next writing-assignment, but eventually she decided to go straight for the purpose she came for. "Well, I was wondering… if you'd want to have a cup of coffee with me," she said slowly, making it sound casual and innocent.

He stopped on his tracks and turned to face her. He was towering over her, as he was standing two stairs above her. He watched her carefully, as if to make sure she wasn't kidding. She looked straight at him. "You're my student," he said eventually, his tone soft and hesitant.

"Only technically. I mean you're only here for the summer." Lame, lame, lame. She felt like kicking herself. She just hoped it didn't sound so pathetic as she thought it did.

"And that makes you less my student?"

"Of course," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing. "Besides…" she climbed the two stairs that separated them and stood very close. "No one needs to know," she murmured seductively, her lips close to his ear. The scent of his aftershave tickled her nostrils. She didn't even care he was probably her brother's age, maybe a bit younger. She didn't care of anything. She set up this goal, and she was determined to get it.

He laughed kind of nervously, and stepped back. She raised her head in surprise and slight panic. This trick worked on _everyone_! How could he be so indifferent about it? Was she losing her touch?

"I can't say I'm not flattered, Miss Johnson, but it'll never happen. I'm sure there are many others in this campus who'd die to be in my place right now." He glanced at his watch and looked back at her. "I really have to run. I'll see you next class, okay?"

She watched him as he left the auditorium. She was too shocked to feel humiliated. She has just been turned down. She couldn't believe it. She was practically offering herself on a plate and he turned her down without thinking twice. She wished Belinda was there. She didn't trust none of the other girls who stayed with her for the summer to take this very seriously. They'd probably think what he did, she was his student. It could never have happened.

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The rest of the summer dragged on. After that awkward incident at the auditorium, she thought it would be best to lower her profile and keep her distant from Professor Collins. So she stopped sitting at the front of the class, stopped talking, just sat there and listened and took her notes. If he noticed the change in her behavior he never said anything about it. She still couldn't believe he turned her down. She told Belinda about it, once she got back to the campus.

"Maybe he already has a girlfriend," said Belinda.

She shook her head and let out a dramatic sigh. "God, Belinda, I waited weeks for you to come back and comfort me and this is what you have to say to me?"

"What do you want me to say? What other reason could he have to turn you down?" Then her eyes grew big as something occurred to her. "Maybe…" she started, pausing as if to give her words a more dramatic effect. A sly smile curled on her lips. "Maybe he's gay."

If they weren't sitting on the lawn, she would have fallen off. "_What_? No, come on. He can't be gay."

"Why not?"

"Because… he can't," she said weakly, knowing that wasn't very convincing. "Because it'll be against the laws of nature."

"You said he knew how to dress."

"Right, but it doesn't always-"

"And he didn't even look at you. At _you_, Maureen."

"Well, I thought he did, at first," she said miserably. This whole thing was beginning to make her feel really frustrated. "But then he started with all this 'you're my student' crap."

"Mark my words. He's gay."

"Belinda, I don't wanna hear it. He _can't_ be gay. And I'm gonna prove it to you."

"Oh yeah? And how do you plan to do that?"

Her lips curled into a mysterious smile. "You'll see."

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As the new semester was about to start the following week, most students were already back at the campus, just in time for the last summer party. The place was already packed when she stepped in there with Belinda. The music was too loud and pretty bad, and several people were drunk already. She let her gaze wander around the room. She was on a mission, and she didn't intend to waste any second in acting it out. She detected him at the other side of the room. He was alone, she noticed. Perfect. She handed her drink to Belinda and made her way towards him.

He was standing with his back to her. She sneaked behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She could tell it startled him, but he didn't turn around. "Dance with me," she whispered in his ear, her tone seductive and low. He turned to face her, but didn't shake her off, which she thought was a good sign. "I'm not your student anymore."

He looked straight at her. "No, you're not."

"So dance with me," she said again, grabbing his tie. He didn't try to resist when she pulled him to the dance floor, not even when she pressed herself against him as the music slowed down and the lights dimmed. "Aren't you a little young to be a professor?" she asked, snaking her arms around his neck.

He didn't even flinch. "How old do you think I am?"

"That's just it, I can't really tell. Early 30's? You seem to be my brother's age, but I'm not sure."

"I'm 25, if you must know."

25? That was better than she expected! The thought of him being Anthony's age started to bug her. But if he was 25 it changed everything. "Still, 25 is young for a professor," she said, slowly caressing the back of his neck with her fingers, never breaking their gaze.

"Look, Miss Johnson-"

"It's Maureen," she said, her voice low.

"Maureen. I know what you're trying to do," he said, looking down at her. "And it's not gonna work."

"What am I trying to do?" she pouted, looking at him innocently.

"It's not gonna work," he repeated, and she imagined to detect a slight quiver in his voice.

She inched closer. "I'm not doing anything."

He reached out a hand as if to stop her. "Look, there's something you should know before you-"

"Honey, there you are! I was looking all over for you!"

She looked back, annoyed, and was about to snap at the person who dared to interrupt her in her mission. It was a man she had never met before, and it took her 5 more seconds to realize that it wasn't her he was addressing. Belinda's words rushed back, suddenly extremely realistic, and she instinctively pulled herself away from Professor Collins.

The strange man walked past her and wrapped one arm around Professor Collins' waist. She stared at them, mortified, as humiliation washed all over her. Gah! How could she be so blind?

"Maureen Johnson, that's Greg Summers, my boyfriend."

Yeah, like she couldn't figure _that_ out herself, she thought, acknowledging Greg with a slight nod and a mumbled "nice to meet you." Then with no further words, she turned and made her way through the crowd, wishing to be as far away from there as she could possibly get. She couldn't stay there. By tomorrow everyone would know everything and she could never leave her dorm room again.

"Hey, Maureen, where are you going?" asked Belinda as she passed her, but she didn't stop to answer. She'll have a lot of time to do that later, when she's less upset. Or humiliated. God, how did she let this happen?

The night air was chilly, and she embraced her shoulders to keep warm. She was shaking with anger, not so much for him but for herself. She couldn't believe it was happening to her. What was she thinking, to hit on a teacher of hers in the first place? It was pathetic. She should have stuck to guys her age. She shouldn't have gone-

"I tried to tell you," said a quiet voice from behind her, wrapping something around her shoulders. She turned, startled, and there he was, the source of her misery and humiliation, standing there looking slightly worried. "You okay?"

"Fine," she replied, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm sorry you had to find out that way."

"I'm sorry I put you in this position in the first place," she said. She originally meant to snap at him and make a scene, but then she realized it was kind of pointless, since she was the one practically throwing herself at his feet.

He laughed softly. "You _are_ pretty persistent, aren't you?"

"Only when I know what I want." He looked amused. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"No, no, you just… remind me of someone." She looked at him questionably. "Me." There was a short pause, and then he spoke again. "So how about a new beginning?" he asked, stretching out his hand. "Hi. I'm Tom Collins. Friends call me Collins."

She hesitated, but then slowly shook his hand, finally daring to look at him. "Maureen Johnson."

He smiled at her. It was that same smile that caught her attention the first time. She cursed her misfortune. "Well, Maureen Johnson, I think it's gonna be the beginning of a wonderful friendship."


	3. Charades

**2- Charades**

Winter. Her favorite time of year. She could sit and stare at the falling snow for hours and never get enough of it. But not today. She spent the morning at the library, working on a huge paper for her least favorite course. So far, her second year in college wasn't as great as the first one. Most courses started to get somewhat repetitive and therefore boring. She dated one of her classmates, but had just dumped him couple of days ago with no particular reason. Simply because her instincts told her to. And there wasn't a time when she ignored her instincts. She practically lived according to them.

So she was single again, and extremely frustrated thanks to that hellish paper she had no idea how to start, and to top it all off, she had to go back home for a few weeks. Since she spent the summer at the campus, her parents and Anthony pressed her to come over during her holiday break. She ignored them at first, spending Halloween and Thanksgiving at the campus. Now Christmas was two weeks away, and she planned to get home for Christmas Eve and get it over with, but eventually she got so tired from their nagging that she agreed to come over earlier. She was about to leave in two days, and stay until after Christmas, which meant three weeks of torture at home sweet home, the Johnson residence at New Jersey. And not only that, she would be there just in time for her parents' annual Christmas party. Her nose wrinkled in discontent, and she dropped her pen and leaned her head against her arm. It was a party mostly for her father's colleagues, always sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and always at their house since her father was the head of the firm. Also, it was always so snobbish and so damn boring, but it was expected from her to be there, to allow her parents to pull off their "happy little family" act. And she, the Broadway actress-to-be, was expected to play along.

God, she wished she wouldn't have to go there. She would have preferred to be stuck in that library with 5 more papers just as hellish as this one, than having to go back home and-

A sudden blow of wind close to her ear made her nearly fall off the chair with a start. Someone turned to shoot her a glare, and she flashed him an apologetic smile. Then she turned to her left, ready to snap at the person who dared to scare her like that.

One look at him, and her anger was quickly melting away. A huge smile replaced her frown as she jumped to her feet and threw her arms around him. "You bastard, you scared the hell out of me."

Collins had that smug, amused expression on his face, as if he was very proud of himself. "I know. Wasn't it fun though?" he asked, hugging her back.

All around them, people were raising their heads, as if looking around for the source of interruption. Well, she definitely got the distraction she hoped for. She grabbed her books and stuffed everything into her backpack. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Once outside, she wrapped a stripped white and blue scarf around her neck, pulled a pair of gloves on her hands and put on a small, dark blue woolen hat. Then she turned her attention to Collins, who was watching her grinning. "What are you doing here?" she asked as they walked along one path.

"I'm on my way back to New York, so I thought I'd stop by and wish my best friend Merry Christmas."

She stopped, incredibly touched by what he had just said. Probably more than she should have been. No one ever did that for her. "Oh honey… Merry Christmas to you too," she said, giving him a hug. She held him for a moment, and then slowly let go. "Can I interest you with some hot chocolate? With cream and cinnamon and marshmallow? I kind of wanna talk."

"Cream and cinnamon and marshmallow, oh my," said Collins, snaking his arm around hers. "Sure. Lead the way."

They got really close after that far away day at the end of the summer. As if to make it up for the awkward note in which their relationship had started, he asked her for coffee the day after the party, and they sat there and talked for hours. He was gone before the new semester started, but stopped by to visit her whenever he could. Staying in touch was difficult, because she was never very good with letters and long-distance calls cost more than she could afford. Yet somehow they made it work.

He had no idea how right he was when he first predicted a wonderful friendship for them. They had so much in common, that he soon became the brother that Anthony failed to be. He never judged her, he never made fun of her decision to become an actress, he never tried to force his opinions on her. On the contrary; he made her feel new confidence about her choices. He told her about New York, where he lived with several roommates when he wasn't around teaching. He lived at the Lower East Side, in the Village, the heart of Bohemian life, where people were mostly hungry and frozen.

They walked into a small café at the far end of the campus. It was warm and cozy inside, so she took off her coat, scarf, gloves and hat, stuffing the last three in her backpack. Collins led her to a small table near a window, and pulled out a chair for her. He always did that; opened doors and pulled out chairs, all those sweet, little gentlemanly gestures that made girls fall at his feet.

"So how are ya?" she asked once the waiter set their orders in front of them.

"Fine. Can't wait to get home already. New York City is quite a sight on Christmas time."

"Stop, you're gonna make me jealous," she laughed.

"Nah, I'm sure you'll get a chance to see it in its Christmas glory someday."

"I hope so." She stirred her hot chocolate. "How's Greg?"

"I… don't know," he replied, his expression changing from end to end. He looked at her sadly. "We broke up a month ago."

"Oh, Collins… I'm so sorry." She really liked Greg. In spite of that first impression she had made on him at the night of the party, Collins introduced her again several days later, and there was great chemistry between them. She thought that Collins and him was the most adorable couple, always caring for one another and such. She was surprised to hear it was over. She wondered why he didn't tell her sooner.

"Yeah. Long-distance relationships never work. Take my word on it." He sipped his drink. "How about you? Dating anyone interesting?"

"Just the same old sex-craved scums. I just dumped someone," she added casually, reaching for her mug again.

Collins let out a long whistle. "Another one? Boy, you're a little heart-breaker, aren't you?" She pouted, which made him laugh. "And how's school?"

"That's… kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," she said slowly. She gave it a lot of thought in the past couple of weeks, but she didn't feel confident enough to make this decision all by herself. It actually surprised her, because she never needed other people to help her with her decisions. She just knew what she wanted; she didn't need anyone else's advice.

Collins leaned forward, looking intrigued. "What's wrong?"

"What am I doing here, Collins?" she asked, more desperately than she intended. "This is not who I was meant to be. It was great when it started but now… it feels like my life is standing still, and I can't be still, Collins, I'll die if I will."

"So what do you want?"

"I wanna get out of here." She didn't realize how much she wanted that until it was out in the open. "I don't wanna sit here and wait until the academic world will bury me alive. I _have_ to get out of here."

"Then get out of here," he said. It sounded so simple.

"Do you really think I should?"

"Unless you prefer to stay here until you rot."

"Hell no."

"Then follow your heart and it'll take you where you wanna go."

She frowned. "God, Collins, you sound like a fucking greeting card."

Collins laughed, and then got serious again. "This is what you really want, Momo?" he asked softly, looking straight at her.

She took a moment to think it over, although it wasn't really necessary. She knew what her reply was going to be. She returned his look, her eyes serious and confident. "Yeah. This is what I really want."

"You once told me that you could be extremely persistent when you knew what you wanted. It's time to start being persistent then."

"I guess it is." She sipped her chocolate. It was warm and sweet and sort of comforting. Then something occurred to her and she placed the mug on the table. "I'll have to break this to my parents. That should be fun."

"You're going back home?"

"Yeah, in a couple of days." She suddenly got the greatest idea. "Hey, why don't you come with me? My parents are giving the most boring party but you can keep me company. Ooh! We can tell them you're my boyfriend," she added, smiling evilly.

Collins laughed, but then shook his head, looking at her sorrowfully. "Thanks, sweetie, but I can't. I gotta go back home." He reached out and took her hand in his. "I'm sure you'll be fine on your own."

Suddenly, she didn't feel so sure, but she still smiled reassuringly. "I always do."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The house was in chaos when she got there at noon two days later. People from the catering company were all over the first floor, arranging tables and trays and dishes, talking frantically to one another. In one end of the room stood an enormous, white Christmas tree. She frowned once it caught her sight. They never had normal Christmas trees, ever. The holiday season always made her mother, an art designer in profession, extra creative. She had no idea where they managed to find a white tree, but there it was, bare and weird-looking, waiting to be decorated. In the middle of everything stood her mother, orchestrating the preparations.

She dropped her suitcase, which earned her a scorning look from a caterer who almost tripped over it, and walked into the living-room. Her mother finally noticed her, and gave her her version of a smile- a slight twist of her lips, barely noticeable in her grave face.

"Maureen. You're finally here," she said, in a voice that stood in complete contradiction with the normal implications of the word "finally." Of course, she wasn't expecting a parade for her return, but she hoped for a little more enthusiasm, especially in light of the fact that the last time she was home was exactly a year ago. Who was she kidding?

"Hi mom," she replied, walking over to kiss her mom on both cheeks, only by force of habit.

"How was your flight? I'm sorry we couldn't come and pick you up, but your father and Anthony got a last minute case, which left me here to handle this mess by myself," she said a bit too dramatically, gesturing the living-room.

She was sure her mother enjoyed every bit of it. Managing and bossing around was second nature for her. "That's fine."

"How is school?"

"Well, I actually need to talk to you ab-"

"Excuse me, young man, this goes to the other side, along with the plum-colored napkins, not the lilac ones!" It took her a moment to realize that her mother was addressing one of the caterers. Then she brought her attention back to her, well, sort of, for her eyes still followed the caterer from over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, dear. You were saying?"

She sighed. What made her think that this time would be different? "Nothing important. I'm gonna go up to my room now, unless you need my help down here."

"No, that's okay. You go ahead, everything here is under control. Your dress for tonight is on your bed."

Now she couldn't even choose her own clothes? "Mom, that's okay, I have-"

Her mother shook her head. "Maureen, please. Tonight is very important to your father. His partnership with the Jeffersons is going to be announced. We don't want to upset him, don't we?"

She was sure that the world would not come to an end if she'd wear something else, but decided not to dwell on that. She had to keep her strength. She'd let them do things their way before she'd make her move. Suddenly she couldn't wait until she would.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She had to admit that her mother chose well. The dress she found on her bed was deep purple. It got to her ankles and wrapped around her perfectly. Knowing her mom, the dress probably matched the color of the napkins, that matched the color of Anthony's tie. She met him briefly before, on her way to the bathroom. Like the rest of the family, he was never the type to express any sort of emotion, but she was still surprised by his cold, mumbled welcome. Not that she was mad or disappointed. Screw him. Screw them all. She deserved a better family than that.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Boring, just as she expected. Nothing has changed from the previous year, except for some new interns of her father's who kept undressing her with their eyes. One of them was courageous enough to step forward and ask her if she wanted to go out sometime and get to know each other a bit better. One glare shushed him up immediately, and he went back, defeated, to join his friends. Yuck. She would have set them up with one another, if it was up to her.

She downed a second glass of champagne and made her way to her father's den. She opened the door to discover that someone was already in there. A young woman raised her head when she walked in, obviously startled. Then she laughed softly and closed the book she was reading in, laying in on the desk. "Must be the worst party of the century, huh?"

She returned the strange woman's smile and closed the door. Walking into the room, she got a chance to observe her more closely. She looked slightly older than herself, maybe by a couple of years or so. The dress she wore looked expensive, in a soft, ivory shade that was in perfect tune with her chocolate-colored skin. "Well, it definitely beats last year," she replied.

The stranger looked horrified to hear this. "You've been here last year too?"

"I usually don't make the same mistake twice, but this time it was out of my control."

The woman laughed and outstretched her hand. "I'm Joanne Jefferson."

Didn't her mother mention the name Jefferson as her dad's new partner at the firm? "Maureen Johnson," she smiled, reaching out her own hand.

Joanne's smile seemed to freeze. Her hand dropped to the side of her body. "Oh. The daughter of-"

"Bill Johnson, that's right," she nodded, kind of amused by Joanne's reaction. Clearly she was embarrassed by what she had just said about her parents' party, but she couldn't have been more right.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Nah, don't worry about it. It was actually a sort of relief to know that I'm not the only one who thinks this party sucks."

Joanne laughed, but still kind of nervously. "It does, doesn't it?"

There was a moment of silence, in which they were just observing one another, like two little girls that were forced to play together. When it started to get a bit awkward, she decided she should be the one to continue their conversation. "So your dad is my dad's new partner?"

"Yeah, I think they'll announce it in a bit," said Joanne. She paused, then asked, "What do you do?"

"I'm a student of American History in a snobbish college in Massachusetts, but I've just decided to drop out and go to New York and become an actress." She wasn't sure what made her say all that to a stranger she has just met. And Joanne did look sort of intimidated. "What do _you_ do?"

"I had just started my internship at my dad's office." Great, she thought, _another_ law student. "I guess I mean our dads' office," Joanne corrected with a small smile.

"I guess." She was about to warn her about Anthony's arrogance, but just then the door opened and a man peered inside. He smiled when he noticed Joanne.

"Oh, there you are, Kitten. We're ready for the toast." Then his gaze shifted from Joanne to her, and back to Joanne. "Making friends, Kitten?"

"Daddy, this is Maureen, she's Mr. Johnson's daughter. Maureen, that's my dad, Harold Jefferson." It sounded as if Joanne was really close to her father. She almost envied her, although it felt strange to envy someone she knew for no more than15 minutes.

Mr. Jefferson's eyes lightened when Joanne told him who she was. "Oh! I heard so much about you! Pleasure to meet you, my dear," he said, shaking her hand enthusiastically.

"You too." He looked like a really nice guy. She pitied him. He had absolutely no idea what he was getting himself into.

"Come along now, you two. You don't want to miss this wonderful party, do you?"

She met Joanne's eyes, and rolled her eyes. Joanne stifled a giggle as they followed Mr. Jefferson back to the party.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"No you are not!"

"_Yes_, I am!"

"_No, you are not!_ And that's my final word on this issue!"

Her father was glaring at her, red-faced and furious. Her mother was sitting at the corner of the room, silent and expressionless. Not that she expected any sort of defense or support from her; her father always had the last word whatsoever. She had just told them she was dropping out. She still wasn't sure whether or not to complete the spring semester as well, but either way she has made her choice. She was going out of there.

"I will _not_ allow my daughter to go out and pursue a non-existing acting career that will lead her nowhere, do you understand me?"

"Why, because it'll ruin our perfect family's reputation? I don't give a shit!"

"Watch it, Maureen," Anthony snapped at her, looking at her narrow-eyed.

"Stay out of it, Anthony, this is none of your business!"

"But it's _my_ business. And you will _not_ leave college to become an actress on Broadway or whatever!"

"Just watch me, daddy," she said, her voice icy-cold.

This seemed to have caught her father somewhat off-guard, but he soon snapped put of it and said, just as coldly, "Do it, and don't bother to come back here."

From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother getting up. "Bill-"

He raised his hand, stopping her mother's attempt to protest. She sank back to her chair. "No. Our little girl wants to learn a lesson in independence. Well, let her have it. But she'll have to deal with the consequences." He looked at her again. She hardly recognized her father in the face of that man. "So make your choice."

"I _have_ made my choice, dad," she said quietly. She really wasn't apt to making a scene. This was not her intention at all. Of course, she didn't expect their blessing, but she didn't think it would get to this. "I just wanted you'd accept it. I'll do it with or without your support. It's just gonna be tougher without it." She didn't meet his eyes. She couldn't. She left the room without looking back, suddenly feels like crying. And yet, at the same time, a sense of satisfaction and victory made her blood rush. She was filled with new determination. She would leave the following week. She smiled, realizing that it meant she'd get her chance to be in New York on Christmas time after all. She had enough money, she'd be okay for a while, until she'd find herself a job. She didn't need their false advices and concerns. She was sick and tired of charades. She was going to make it. On her own.


	4. Double Shift

**A/N- just thought I'd stop by and see how you guys are doin'! I also wanted to thank those of you who reviewed- glad you like it so far. Those of you who haven't reviewed- you know you want to! (pouts)**

**3- Double Shift**

"Oh God. I don't know how you guys keep doing this," she moaned, turning her head this way and that to loosen the tight muscles of her sore neck. Her back hurt, so did her feet. This has been her routine so far, ever since she got to New York City, almost a month ago. Work, work, and work again. It was her second double shift that week, her third week as a waitress at the Life Café, an extremely popular spot for the Village inhabitants. Yet she couldn't complain. This was work. She needed it; she had to keep it, for she couldn't rely on her own savings forever. She was doing this for her own living. Thinking about it made her lips curl in a small, satisfied smile. She needed no one to support her. She was finally independent.

"You get used to it. Don't you worry about it," promised Roxanne. She was her first friend in New York. They met at the train station when she first got there, and Roxanne was such help from the very beginning. She moved in with her, but it was only temporary, until she could find her own place. The apartments she had checked so far moved from completely unlivable to extremely expensive, so she was glad she had a place to stay until she'd find something she could afford. Roxanne worked at the Life for two years, doing as many shifts as she could. She needed the money to feed her daughter, a beautiful three-year-old named Mia. With Roxanne working there, it was easy for her to get a job there as well.

She eyed Roxanne skeptically. "Do you?"

"You have to," said Steven, who was another waiter, and one of the few straight men in the city who didn't try to get her into his bed the first time he met her. She loved him for that. "Must be very nice though, having all those guys staring at you. Some girls, too."

"Oh, poor Steven, the new waitress stole your fans?" asked Roxanne, rolling her eyes.

She shrugged. It wasn't something new. "So they're staring. They always will."

"Some girls, too," repeated Steven, as if to remind her.

Roxanne burst out laughing. "Come off it, Steven."

"Boys, girls, it's out of my control. Let them stare, that's what I say," she said indifferently. She kind of got used to it by now. They've always been staring at her. And she always loved the attention. What was the harm? It was just staring, anyway. And some flirting, when she felt like it.

"I know about at least one of them who sat here at the bar for hours yesterday, just waiting for you to get here. I didn't have the heart to break _his_ heart and tell him you finished your shift already."

"What? I didn't hear about that one, when was it?" asked Roxanne.

"Yesterday afternoon, when you took couple of hours off to take Mia to the doctor. I felt really sorry for the poor guy. He just sat there, drinking his tea, glancing at the front door when he thought no one was looking. He looked really miserable, especially in the end when he couldn't pay for his tea."

"You're being very nice," she frowned, even though she was flattered to hear that.

"I know. Charming, aren't I?" said Steven, rolling his eyes. Roxanne laughed and hit his arm jokingly. One of the waiters shot the three of them a weird look and nodded towards the area in the back, near the windows, where a noisy group had just found a seat.

"Your area, Maureen," said Roxanne, her laughter slowly dying.

"I know, I'm movin'," she answered tiredly, making her way to the tables in the back. She recognized some of them. In the three weeks she was working there, she had seen them quite a lot. They never sat in her area though, but today the table they usually occupied was taken. She envied them. They always looked so happy and careless, always loud and laughing, and every time they got there, there was always some sort of commotion. They seemed to know everyone, and everyone knew them. They were obviously living quite some time in New York.

Her head stuck in her notepad, she tried to calculate how many hours she had left until the end of the shift. She didn't even look up, just followed the noise until she got to their table. "How can I help-" her voice drifted off as she raised her head to meet the familiar grin of a familiar guy. Her favorite guy. A huge smile formed on her face as she let out a squeal. "_Collins_!"

His grin grew wider as he stood up, and she flung herself into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. "I can't believe my eyes. This was faster than I expected," he said, slowly letting go. His eyes sparkled. "When the hell did you get here?"

"About three weeks ago. I was about to try and locate you, but it's all been crazy with this new job and-"

"That's okay, honey. I wasn't around. I got back this morning." He did one step back, observing her with a small smile. "You're looking as fabulous as ever."

She frowned, looking down at the apron she had to wear as uniform. "It's a bit less glamorous than I hoped."

"You'll get your chance. I know you will."

Someone at the table coughed as if to draw Collins' attention. She looked away from him and to take a closer look on those guys that drew her attention from the first day she got there. She never had a chance to look at them closely, since they never sat in her area. They were three, more or less her age. "Collins man, aren't you going to introduce your friend?" asked one of them, a bit confused. Then he turned to look at her, and a slow, sly smile curled on his lips. Ugh. She hated being looked at like that. On his one side sat a guy who looked like those guys she used to date during her short college experience. Handsome, masculine, she could notice a tattoo on his arm, where his sleeves were rolled up. He was attractive, and just her type, but he looked kind of down, as if his mind was elsewhere. The last one looked a bit younger than them. He was blonde and she could notice his glasses, although he was hunched over an old looking camera and hardly took notice of her.

Collins laughed. "Sure. Guys, this is Maureen Johnson, she's an old friend, I was teaching a seminar in her college. Maureen, these are the guys," he said simply. The blonde guy raised his head as Collins acknowledged them, and their eyes locked for a moment. His eyes were remarkably blue behind those glasses, she noticed. He looked thunder-stricken for just a second, but then he blushed and looked back down. "This is Benny, and Roger, and that's Mark. He's kind of shy," said Collins, looking fondly at the blonde guy. She could tell by the sound of his voice that he really liked the boy. "So when are you off?" he asked her.

She sighed. Like she needed someone to remind her that. "In _way_ too many hours."

"Do you have anywhere to stay?"

"One of the girls that works here had a spare room, so I-"

"Why don't you move in with us?" Collins cut her off.

Caught off-guard, she looked at him dumbfounded for a moment. "What?"

"Move in with us. The loft is pretty big, and we can share the rent. It's gonna be easier for all of us. If no one objects," he added, turning to look at his friends, who shook their heads. Benny looked thrilled. He nudged Roger's elbow, but Roger didn't seem to notice. "Good. It's settled then. If you want."

"How soon can I move in?" she asked smiling. Thing were going better than she could ever expect.

"The sooner the better. We can move your stuff in after your shift, or tomorrow."

She thought about it for a moment, and as she did, her gaze wandered from Collins to Mark. He was staring at her. Caught in the act, he blushed and looked away. She smiled. He was almost too cute. She couldn't help but wonder if he could possibly be the one Steven had just told her about. "Sure. But I gotta go back to work now, or this would be my last shift ever. So let me take your order and we'll talk about this later?"

"Okay sweetie," said Collins and hugged her again. "I'm so glad to see you here."

"I know. Me too."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Although his friends left some time ago, Collins waited until the end of her shift. He was sitting by the bar, and she had stopped by to talk with him whenever she could. She didn't even realize how much she missed him, until she saw him sitting there.

They walked back to Roxanne's apartment once their shift ended, and Collins helped her pack and move her bags out. It was almost midnight as they made their way to the loft, and freezing, since it was the middle of January.

"So you didn't waste much time," he said, sort of amused.

"Nope."

"Weren't you supposed to be at Jersey for the holidays?"

"I didn't stay. I left two days after I got there. Things got really ugly when I told them, so I didn't see any point to stay."

"So you just got yourself on a bus here?"

She laughed softly. "More or less. I packed what I could and wrote to Belinda to keep the stuff I left at the dorms until I'm settled here." She sighed sadly, realizing she didn't even say goodbye to her. Then she looked up at him, and felt safe at the thought that he was there with her. She wasn't entirely alone. "Enough about me. Let's talk about something else."

So he told her what he has been doing since the last time she has seen him. Although he made efforts to sound cheerful, she could tell something was wrong. She stopped on her tracks in the middle of the street once she realized that.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked, surprised.

She eyed him seriously. "What are you not telling me?"

Collins looked as if he was about to deny, but soon he gave up on that. "Nothing escapes you, huh?" he asked, his voice a bit desperate. He sighed. "Okay. I didn't want to tell you so soon, but I guess the sooner I'll get it out of my system the better."

Now she was kind of worried. "Collins, what happened?"

He took her arm gently and led her to a park nearby. There were no benches around, so they took a seat on two swings in a deserted playground. She looked at him, curious and afraid at the same time. "Couple of weeks ago I… I found out I was sick," he started, almost in a whisper. He raised his head to face her. His eyes were glistening. "I have AIDS."

A gasp escaped her before she had a chance to hold it back. That was the last thing she expected to hear. AIDS… No, that was impossible. Not him. Not her Collins… "But… how did you-"

"Well, apparently this was Greg's reason to break up. He found out he was sick couple of months ago and he was afraid to tell me, so instead he decided we should break up, making that ridiculous excuse about how we hardly meet because I'm never around. I stumbled over the truth when I had my annual blood tests. When they told me I was positive he was the first person I called to. So he told me the truth. I felt so guilty that I might have gotten him infected, and eventually it was the other way around," he concluded, shaking his head sadly.

She left her swing and approached him. He was still sitting, and therefore a bit shorter than her. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, slowly wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Don't," he said, laying his head on her stomach, holding her close. "I'm okay. I'll be okay. I'll fight."

"I know you will," she smiled in spite of her tears. Inside, she was screaming. "Did you…" she took a deep breath. You can't fall apart now, she scolded herself. She had to stay strong for him. "Did you tell your friends?"

"No, not yet. This is why I wasn't in town. I told them I had a teaching gig someplace, but the truth was that I had to get away for a while to think. And now I just got back home, and I didn't want to upset them. Anyway I think I'll need a few days to think about how the hell am I going to break this to them. Unlike you, they weren't blessed with female instincts. They didn't suspect something was wrong."

"Guys, you know," she said quietly, holding back tears. One tear managed to escape though, and she could feel it sliding down her cheek, warm and tickling.

He laughed softly, standing up and kissing her forehead. "Yeah, go figure them out." He brushed her hair away from her face. "You must be tired," he said gently. "Come on, let's get you home."

She hated to admit that she _was_ tired. His news still echoed mercilessly in her ears, though. AIDS, oh God… She slipped her hand in his as they left the park. "It looks like they mean a lot to you," she said. They had to talk about something, anything, or she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it.

"They are. We're all like a family here. I met Mark more or less the way I met you. He was a student in Brown. My best student. Benny was his roommate. Roger and Mark are friends for so many years, I think they lived next to one another or something. They got here after Mark's graduation. His parents almost got a heart attack, according to what I've heard."

She smiled. "Why is that?"

"Roger made them sound like Jewish, over-protective psychos, but I dunno. I think it's his dad he really has issues with. His mom always calls to make sure he's warm and safe, well-fed and doesn't use alcohol or drugs." She smiled. If _that_ wasn't over-protective, she didn't know what was. "But Mark never talks about this. I do know that both his mom and dad weren't very happy with the route he decided to follow."

"Which was?"

"Filming. That's his life obsession. He told me once that his great-grandfather was a photographer, until the German destroyed his photography shop during the Second World War. His son, Mark's grandpa, survived the war and started his own photography business, in the memory of his father. He always had such passion to photography, and Mark became fascinated by it himself. They were pretty close, until the man died, on the night of Mark's Bar Mitzvah."

She could almost imagine the boy's face on that day years ago. It nearly broke her heart. "Oh, poor Mark."

"Yeah. Roger told me that he was heart-broken. But the old man didn't leave him with nothing. He left him his old video camera, and got him a new Leica. So from that day on, Mark knew that was what he wanted to do. No one in the family approved his grandpa's occupation, so you can imagine how his parents flipped when Mark told them he was about to follow this man's way."

She smiled. That sounded pretty much like her own parents, and the way they felt about her old Broadway dream. For a moment, she could pretend to hear their protests again, her brother's protests. She shook them off. It was final. She was where she always wanted to be. There was no going back. "And Roger? What's his story?"

"Roger… is completely a different story. That's why I was so surprised these two were such good friends. He never tried to apply to college. He says that he always knew he'd end up in New York. It was like his childhood dream or something. His parents actually encouraged him to go, to follow his dreams. They're nothing like Mark's parents. They came to visit here couple of times. Once they even showed up at the club where Roger plays with his band. The Well Hungarians." He frowned. "They suck, but they think they are the greatest." She laughed. "Hey, maybe we can get him get you a gig or something."

"Really?" That would be so great. Maybe she could join their band, no matter how much they sucked. It was a start.

"Yeah. I mean I'm not sure if he'll be up to it right now, he's just going through major breakup." She knew something looked wrong with him. "I think you're gonna like Davis. He can be a jerk sometimes, but he's a great guy. They all are. Even Benny has a nice side, deep, _deep_ inside of him."

"You care about them a lot, don't you?" she asked gently, giving his hand a small squeeze.

"Of course I do. They're my brothers. You'll see that in no time, you'll care too. It's unavoidable." As he said that, he stopped in front of an old looking building. He nodded towards the top floor. "Up there. Home sweet home." He took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the front door. She followed him up the stairs and into the loft. It was dark and quiet, except for a small lamp in the far end of the room. Someone raised his head as they opened the heavy metal door. He was rubbing his eyes, as if they woke him up.

Collins didn't look so surprised to find him there so late. "Mark, what are you doing here?"

Mark got up and stretched, then took his glasses from the table and put them on. "I was working and… I guess I fell asleep." Then he noticed her, and smiled shyly. "Hi," he whispered, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair.

So cute. She hoped she wasn't blushing. "Hi."

"You wanna help us to get Maureen's stuff in her room?" asked Collins. Mark nodded and walked towards them. He avoided looking at her as he took one of the bags from her. She followed him and Collins into one of the rooms, which looked as if they used it so far for storage. There were clothes and carton boxes all over the place. "Here. That's my room, but you can have it and I'll share a room with Mark."

His room? She thought they had one spare room or something, or he wouldn't have offered her to move in with them in the first place. She shook her head in protest. "No, Collins, I won't take your room from you, no way. I can stay on the couch."

"You ain't sleeping on no couch," said Collins, his voice as determined as hers. "There's another spare room over there, at the end of the hall, but it's a real mess and it's too late to start organizing it right now. So don't argue, take this room. You won't win, you know."

She smiled. "I'm too tired to argue with you anyway."

"Good. So let's go to sleep, it's been a long day."

But she couldn't sleep. No matter how tired she was, she just couldn't. She laid on Collins' shabby mattress and stared at the ceiling. At some point, the light in the living room died out and Mark went to bed as well. She sat up and reached for her purse, looking for her cigarettes. She took up smoking during college, because it helped her relax before the exams. Now she rarely smoked, mostly because she didn't want it to ruin her voice. After she found them, she snatched a lighter, threw a sweatshirt on her shoulders and left her room. She spotted the fire escape when they first entered the loft. She could use the fresh air. She wasn't surprised to find Collins there, having a smoke.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked as he noticed her.

She shook her head. She didn't want to tell him he was the reason that kept her awake. She was still thinking about what he had told her earlier. She lit her cigarette and blew the smoke into the chilly night air.

"I get out here a lot at night, to think," said Collins.

She leaned back on the cold metal bars, so that she could take a better look at him. "What are you thinking about now?"

"You know," he looked at her sadly. Then, as if to change the subject, he gave a knowing-all smile. "So, you like our young filmmaker?"

She looked at him confused. "Who?"

"Mark. I think he likes you. I mean, I know he likes you," he said smiling.

"You're only here for 24 hours, how could you possibly figure out such a thing so quickly?" she laughed nervously. She really didn't know why. Even if it was true, Mark wasn't the first guy to have a crush on her. And he surely wasn't the last.

"I can. Mark is pretty transparent. Aside from the fact that he couldn't stop telling me about the pretty new waitress they had at the Life Café. Why do you think we were all there tonight?" he looked at her jokingly, then did a double take. "I'll be damned. You're actually blushing!"

Was she? Oh, shit. "Shut up, Collins," she muttered, taking another drag from her cigarette.

"This is really cute. Although I've never thought about guys like him as your type."

She wasn't sure of he was teasing her or being serious. "He's not. But maybe that's just the problem. Maybe a change is what I need. Maybe all my other choices were wrong."

"Coming here was right."

"Yeah," she smiled. "It was." An involuntary wave of uncertainty hit her full force. She sighed. "I hope so."

"It's not like you to be so hesitant. You're safe here with us." They sat in silence for couple of minutes, just smoking their cigarettes and watching the stars. She was so occupied with her own thoughts, that when Collins spoke again, it startled her. "He's an amazing guy, in case you do want a break from sex-craved scums," he said seriously.

She laughed softly, her thoughts drifting towards the blonde, shy filmmaker, now sound asleep in his bedroom. "Thanks. I'll think about it."


	5. Thicker than Blood

**A/N- some language in this one, guys, just letting you all know. I'll be more than happy to know what you all think!**

**4- Thicker Than Blood**

It was raining when she opened her eyes. A quick glance at the digital clock by her bedside shown 8:34 am, which was ridiculously early, especially since she worked until 2 the night before. She groaned softly and rolled to her side, watching the raindrops slide down her window. Usually she loved rain, but today she was kind of disappointed with it. It was Saturday, and she didn't have to work until late in the evening, so she was planning to go uptown and explore it a little bit. She couldn't do that in this weather.

She closed her eyes, hoping to steal a moment or two of slumber, but suddenly she felt extremely awake. A bit frustrated, she sat up and stretched her arms above her head. Then she quickly showered and changed, and went out to the living-room after a while, clipping up her hair as she did.

Someone sat by the table as she walked in, hidden behind a copy of the Village Voice. An arm holding a colorful mug appeared and disappeared behind the paper every few seconds.

"Morning," she said.

The paper was down, and Roger smiled at her sleepily. "Why are you up so early?" he asked, surprised. He saw her when she got back the night before.

She yawned. "I wish I knew."

"Coffee?" he asked, already on his way to fetch her a cup. They were all really nice to her in the four days since she had moved in. Sometimes even a bit too nice, like Benny, who obviously expected to get something in return.

"Thanks," she said as he placed a steaming mug in front of her. She glanced at him as he sat back down. He still had that sad expression. With his hair falling down his eyes, it made him look like a lost puppy. She hesitated, knowing he probably wouldn't like what she wanted to say, but decided to speak anyway. "You know… she probably isn't worth it."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"The girl you're mourning on."

He looked at her through narrow eyes. "Collins shouldn't have told you," he said, looking away.

Shit. She didn't want to go between him and Collins. "Oh, he didn't," she said. She was always an expert in improvising. Roger turned and gave her a questioning look. She shrugged. "I'm a girl. I pick up on these things."

"Well, it's none of your business," he spattered. Then shortly after, he shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's just… I don't even know you."

"Might be easier to talk about this with someone you don't know."

"There's nothing to talk about. There's nothing to do. It's over. The only thing that bugs me is that I should have seen this coming." He took a sip from his coffee and put the mug down with a sigh.

"Go on," she said, very gently, careful not to scare him away.

"Cassie always said that the music was getting between us. She never really understood…" He raised his eyes to hers, looking straight at her. "Music is my life. I don't care being penniless or in the street as long as I can make my music. This is why I'm here."

She nodded. This was why they were all there. "Understandable."

"Well, not for everyone. Not for Cassie. So she left. She said she couldn't handle it anymore, that I must choose between her and the music. She just didn't realize that for me, there was never a choice."

She sat in silence for a moment, and then said, "Look, I don't know you for long. But my instincts in evaluating people never failed me. It's her loss, Roger, not yours. If she didn't understand who you really were, or if she did understand but didn't care, then she didn't deserve you."

He took a moment, taking this in. Then he looked up at her, a slow smile curling on his lips. "That helped. Sort of."

She returned his smile. "I'm here to listen if you ever wanna talk about it."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Her eyes fell on his arm, where his tattoo was half visible under the sleeve of his T shirt. "Where did you get it?"

Roger followed her eyes. "The tattoo? I lost in a bet and had to do it. There's this place down the street, they've got pretty cool stuff. Why, you wanna have one?"

"Yeah, I've been thinking about this for a while."

"I can take you there, if you want."

"Really? That'll be great."

"Sure. Tell me when you've got a day off and we go," he said, smiling.

She smiled back. It felt as if she gained his trust. "Great." Outside, a thunder boomed.

"Great weather, huh?" he asked. She detected the sarcasm in his voice. "I hope it'll stop by the time I'll have to go out."

"Yeah, tell me about it," she replied, sipping her coffee. "You have a gig tonight?"

"Yeah. Too bad you can't come. We're gonna be awesome."

"How very modest of you, Roger," said a third voice. They turned to look at Mark, who walked over to the counter and got himself some coffee as well. His voice was a bit raspy because he had just woke up; huskiness that wasn't normally there. She smiled. He hardly ever spoke around her, and when he did, it was only when being spoken to, and never without blushing.

"Well, we _will_ be awesome," Roger insisted as Mark took a seat across from her. "Collins tells me you're a singer," he told her.

She laughed softly, a bit shy with his sudden interest. "Guess you can say that. I write a bit too."

His eyes lit up. "Really? I write most of the stuff for our band. Maybe I can show you some of it, and you'll show me what you've got. You know, for second opinion and stuff."

She smiled. He was excited like a little kid. "Sure."

"And if you want, you can come to one of our rehearsals. I wanna see if you're as good as Collins says you are."

"Do us a favor, Davis, don't drag her down. She's here for more serious purposes," said Collins, entering the kitchen.

Roger looked at her questionably, looking a bit offended by the fact that Collins obviously didn't categorize his band under serious. "Oh?"

She felt bad for him. She already knew that his band was practically his whole life. "It's not a big deal, I… thought I'd try out Broadway," she said meekly, raising her knees to her chest, leaning her head against them.

Roger almost choked on his drink. From the corner of her eye she could see that Mark was shifting in his seat, leaning slightly forward. "Wow. Well, that's… ambitious."

"She _is_ an ambitious girl, Davis," said Collins. He kissed the top of her head and sat beside her. "As I said, don't drag her down." He looked around him. "Anyone saw Benny?"

"I don't think he slept here yesterday," said Mark.

Roger nodded. "I haven't seen him since yesterday morning."

Collins sighed. "Boy oh boy. Ladies of New York, beware." He shook his head and looked at the three of them. "So what are we gonna do today?"

"I've got some work to do," said Mark.

"And I still have to unpack," she said, realizing it was the perfect weather for it. Most of her stuff was still in her bags, and Belinda's boyfriend, who happened to be in New York, got her the rest of her stuff from the dorms. Her room was a mess, with bags and carton boxes all over the place.

"Know what?" said Collins after a while. "We're gonna help you unpack."

"We are?" asked Roger.

"Yes," replied Collins, shooting him a look. "Mark, you can do your work a bit later, can't you?"

"Sure," said Mark, smiling shyly at her.

Collins acted as if he didn't notice. "Good. So we can get to work."

"What, _now_?" whined Roger. "We didn't even have breakfast yet!"

"Fine, we'll have breakfast first," said Collins, rolling his eyes. No one said anything for a moment or two.

"Uh… I don't think there _is_ anything for breakfast," said Mark, making Roger groan in frustration.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Oh my God, I can't believe you've got this!" said Roger, taking out a tape she didn't even remember she had. He was going over the box where all her tapes were, and she thought it was a great opportunity to get rid of the stuff she didn't listen to anymore. "It was my favorite couple of years back. Then my dad accidentally taped something on it."

"Aww, poor Roger," said Collins. He was standing on a ladder at the far end of the room, armed with a hammer and some nails, to hang her mirror and some other stuff.

"I'm serious! I didn't talk to him like a week afterwards."

She laughed. "You can take it if you want."

He stared at her in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

She shrugged. "I haven't listened to it in months, and it's most likely I won't start now. I'd rather give it to you than just throw it away."

"Wow. Thanks Maureen," he smiled. "Care to keep it for me until we're finished?" he asked, throwing it in her direction. She caught it and placed it on the bed next to her. She was sitting there folding some sweaters from a nearby bag. "Okay, I'm done with the tapes," said Roger after a while.

"Great. Why don't you start with this bag over there?" she said, nodding towards a small bag close to him.

Roger nodded and approached it. He opened it, but then jumped back in a sudden motion that startled the rest of them. "_Holy shit_!" he exclaimed, moving as far away from the bag as he could.

"What?"

"There's no way I'm unpacking this bag, sorry," Roger mumbled, looking terrified.

"Why the hell not?" asked Collins.

"Because I can't!"

"You'll have to be a bit more specific here, Roger," she said. She had no idea what was in that bag. She was in such a hurry to pack as much as she could as fast as she could, that she didn't remember what was where.

"Yeah, man, unless there's dynamite in there you've got no excuse."

"I'm _not_ touching anything that contains lacy, _pink_ lingerie!"

Collins burst out laughing. She and Mark were soon to follow. Roger stood there, his hands crossed on front of his chest like a stubborn little kid, blush slowly creeping onto his face.

"Under any other circumstances I had no problem with this, but as you're my roommate… let's just say it's enough I'll have to see those hung in the bathroom every once in a while… or try not to think about their existence while you and I are having a serious conversation."

"Sure, Roger, whatever. Just leave it, I'll handle it later," she said, her laughter slowly dying out.

They went back to work. She was folding the clothes Mark handed her from where he was sitting, at the foot of her bed, and Collins was still up there playing a carpenter. Roger reached for a box where she kept some old stuff. He commented on every second item he pulled out from there.

"Jesus, you're such a girl, Maureen," he muttered, holding out a rumpled stuffed bear. He threw it in her direction. She caught it and stuck her tongue at him.

"I think you made it clear when you weren't willing to sort out her lingerie for her, Davis," said Collins, making them crack up again.

"Where does this go?"

Her laughter dying out, she looked at Mark when she realized it was him who spoke. She was a bit surprised that he directly addressed her, and without even blushing. He held her old white and blue scarf and looked at her questionably. Hmm. She just bought a new one the week before, because she didn't know where she packed this one. So she didn't need it now, but she also didn't have the heart to throw it away. She loved that old thing to death. Then she met Mark's eyes, and knew what she had to do. She smiled. "Take it."

He looked at her confused. "What?"

"The scarf. I just got myself a new one."

"I can't take it, it's yours."

"But I wanna give it to you."

"Why?"

"Roger got this tape he wanted. Why can't I give you something too?"

"But it's-"

She took the scarf from his hands and gently wrapped it around his neck, her fingertips grazing his skin as she did. He looked somewhat awe-stricken by the time she finished. There was death silence in the room. She could feel Collins' eyes on her the whole time. "Please take it," she pleaded, locking her gaze with Mark's.

"O-okay. I will. Thanks," he said, blushing.

"Aw, isn't that sweet," remarked Collins from his place up the ladder. Mark turned to shoot him a look, his blush deepening. "I think I'm gonna get us some cookies and something to drink. I'll be right back."

"Do we even _have_ cookies?" Roger wondered aloud once Collins was out of the room.

She smiled to herself and continued to fold shirts and sweaters. She was so focused at what she was doing, that at some point she forgot the boys were in the room with her. The only sound around was the raindrops against the glass on the window. Tap-tap-tap-tap-

A loud clamor from the kitchen shook her out of her reverie. There was a crash and a sound of breaking glass, followed by a shower of nasty curses.

"Collins," she murmured, already halfway down the hall. Mark and Roger were soon to follow.

Collins stood in the middle of the kitchen area, pressing a towel to his arm. He was bleeding, and it looked bad. There was broken glass everywhere.

"Shit, dude, what happened?" asked Roger, staring at the mess.

"Are you okay, Collins?"

"I'm fine. Stay there, don't come closer, I'm okay," said Collins, but she could see he was terrified. She heard it in his voice. The guys still didn't know about him being HIV+ and now he was bleeding… oh shit. It was already complicating their lives. The simplest thing like a bleeding cut suddenly turned into a deadly threat.

"It looks like a nasty cut, Collins. Why don't you let me-"

"I said _stay back_, Mark!"

"He's only trying to help, man!"

"Guys, you'd better listen to him," she said quietly. They didn't even hear her.

Mark stepped forward. "I'm not gonna stand here and do nothing, Collins, you're fuckin' bleeding!" he said, moving towards Collins.

She has never seen anyone respond so fast. Collins pushed him off so forcefully, that Mark nearly lost his balance. "_Goddamit, Mark, I told you not to touch me_!" he yelled. Mark, now in a safe distance, looked as if he was about to cry. "I'm doing it for your own good, guys, leave me the fuck alone, let me handle this," he said, pressing the towel tighter to his arm.

"Guys, come on. Leave him alone, let's go," she said again, touching Roger's shoulder.

He shook her off. "No. What's going on here, Collins? You've never talked to Mark like that. What the fuck is your problem, man? He was only trying to help!"

"I don't need his help! I don't need your help! Don't make it harder than it already is, Davis, just _leave_!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I have AIDS, alright?" Collins blurted out. From where she was standing, the sparkle in his eyes was still noticeable. The silence in the room was thick and tense. Roger and Mark said nothing, but it obviously threw them completely off-guard. Collins sighed and shook his head. "The last thing I want is to give it to you guys," he said, his tone softening. "Now go. Let me handle this."

"You… _What_?"

"Shh… not now, Roger," she tried again.

It wasn't the right thing to say. He turned to look at her, his green eyes shooting fire. "You _knew_."

"Hey! Leave her out of this, Davis!"

"You knew and you didn't even bother to tell us!"

"Look, it's not the point right now-"

"The hell it's not," he spat, and walked past her. Mark hurried after him.

Collins looked at her sorrowfully. "I'm sorry they're jerks. It's really not your fault Momo."

All she wanted to do was to go there and give him a hug, but she knew she shouldn't. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah. It's really not as bad as it looks like. I bet the cut is tiny."

"So much blood."

"Yeah. Go, I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive," he said, smiling bitterly at the irony of it.

She found the boys in Roger's room, sitting on Roger's bed and talking quietly. The door was half opened and she knocked on it lightly. They both raised their heads when she stepped in. "Can I come in?"

Mark nudged Roger's elbow. Roger grumbled a bit, but then got up and walked over to her. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"That's okay."

"It just was the last thing I expected to hear."

She nodded sadly. "This is exactly how I felt when I found out."

"How long do you know?" asked Mark.

"Couple of days."

"But… how?"

"That's up to him to tell you, Roger."

"Fuck," Roger whispered, sitting on his bed.

She looked at him, and then at Mark, who was sitting at the other side of the bed. They looked devastated. Her heart broke. She guessed she didn't yet realize how close they all were to one another.

She sighed. "Look you guys, it's okay you're mad at him, but try to understand how hard it is for him. He had no idea how to break this to you in a way that'll make it easier. You mean a lot to him. And if he means something to you too, you must be there for him. We must help him get through this, or he'll never make it. Okay?" she walked over to the bed and sat between the two of them. She took Roger's hand in one of hers, and Mark's hand in her other. They looked up at her, and she knew they understood.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The loft was dark and quiet when she got back from work. It was a bit after three, and it was no longer raining out there. She wondered if Roger got back from his gig yet, because she didn't feel like going to sleep and she hoped he'd keep her company for a while.

She was about to go to her room when she realized it wasn't completely dark. A flickering light from the television gave the room a dim purplish glow. Then, when her eyes got used to it, she noticed something else she didn't see before, and walked into the living-room. In the darkness, it was easy to miss the figure that was curled on the couch, fast asleep. She smiled as she walked over, slowly so she wouldn't wake him. She stayed at a safe distance and watched him for a moment. He looked so peaceful when he slept, so innocent. Like a child. His hands were clutching the scarf she gave him hours earlier. She smiled. It felt right to give it to him. It'd keep him warm.

She let her gaze linger on him for a moment longer than she probably should have, observing his tousled blonde hair, his peaceful expression, the glasses he forgot to take off, as if he didn't plan to fall asleep. She wondered if he'd ever let her in. She hoped that he would, after everything that happened earlier that day. She sighed. She wished they didn't have to find out like they did, but there was no going back now. The more important thing was that they finally knew, and they were going to go through this together.

She reached for the remote and turned the TV off. She felt for the plaid woolen blanket that was always on the back on the couch. She found it, and covered Mark with it. She ran a hand along his cheek before she was able to stop herself.

She thought she saw him smile before she turned to go to her room.


	6. New Beginning

**A/N- you'll get this comment as you read along, but I just wanted to clear this out now so I wouldn't ruin the effect of the ending- Maureen hates the name Annabel, I don't! I have nothing against it, on the contrary. I'm saying this just in case one of my readers' name is Annabel. I didn't mean to offend anyone. In some cases, Maureen's opinions and mine are divided :) This comment may not make sense right now, but I guess it will when you'll get to that point in the chapter. So… happy reading!**

**Have a wonderful weekend, guys, and… review? (using Maureen's pout)**

**5- New Beginning**

"Someone's here to see you, Maureen," said Roxanne, a teasing smile slowly curling on her lips. She frowned at that, but looked behind Roxanne's shoulder anyway. Her frown melted into a smile as her eyes met Mark's. He waved at her shyly and she returned his wave, but turned away when she felt her cheeks redden in spite of herself.

"Seriously Johnson, is something going on between the two of you?" asked Steven, who showed up out of nowhere at the other side of the bar, apparently polishing some glasses.

She huffed impatiently. "Steven, we've been through this before. _Nothing_ is going on." Roxanne shot her a skeptical look. She sighed. "You guys, he's my _roommate_, for God's sake!"

"In case you didn't notice, the boy's having a huge crush on you," Steven pointed out, almost shoving his towel in her face.

"_Of course_ I noticed, I'm not blind, you know," she replied, rolling her eyes. Her two friends didn't look so convinced. She looked at them seriously. "Look, he's cute, he really is, but he's just not my type. So let it go, okay?"

"Fine, I didn't say anything," said Steven, raising both arms in surrender. Roxanne said nothing, but it was obvious that she was not so willing to let it go. She returned Roxanne's look and then turned away from them, approaching Mark. The scarf she gave him was wrapped tightly around his neck, she noticed, smiling. In spite of his endless protests when she wanted to give it to him, he didn't go anywhere without it. He was messing with his old camera, hardly paying attention to what was going on around him.

She smiled. She lived with the guys for a bit over a month now, and so far everything was great. Collins has just left them for another teaching gig at the beginning of that week. She hardly ever saw Benny, who had a new job uptown. She and Roger got along amazingly well, especially after that little talk they had on her first weekend with the guys. Luckily he went back to his old habits after a short while, and the loft was filled with music again. He even got himself a new haircut, which made him get rid of that puppy-look he had when they first met. He took her to have a tattoo just like he promised, on her next day off. She chose three little stars on her lower back, and he went in there with her and held her hand all the way through. She went to listen to his band with Collins couple of times and had to admit that in spite of Collins' teasing, the Well Hungarians were actually pretty good. And Roger was one hell of a singer. He had such passion in him, as if he understood each song to its very core, and he could adjust his voice to any kind of music; it was incredible listening to him. She could sit with him for ours, out on the fire escape, all night long, smoking and talking about music and comparing stuff each of them wrote. They didn't do that in a while though. She was still working her ass off at the Life, and Roger was dividing most of his time between his band and his new girlfriend April.

And of course, there was Mark, who became less and less shy in her presence as time passed. He always stopped by to visit her at work every afternoon, just sitting there when she was too busy to talk, always walking her home. She learned quite a lot about him during that time. More than anyone else knew about him, she suspected. He was everyone's counselor and advisor, but when it came to his own life, she wondered if he ever let anyone in the same way he had let her. And it made her happy that he trusted her enough to let her in. It felt as if he needed to talk to someone, and she didn't mind listening. Sure, Steven and Roxanne teased her endlessly about Mark's daily visits at the Café, about his being in love with her, but she didn't give a damn. She liked the attention. It was flattering, and sweet, and different than anything she had ever had before.

She was standing right behind him now, and he still didn't look up from what the hell he was doing with his old camera. She learned to like that old thing as well, although she couldn't realize his obsession at first. He used to film her at times when they walked back home together. She promised to let him take some pictures of hers as well, the moment she'd be able to take a day off. She had one condition though. She wanted to watch one of his films, one of those films he spent hours making, but refused to show them to anyone, claiming they were just a bunch of crap. He was reluctant at first, but eventually relented, when he realized he wouldn't be able to win against her.

She tapped on his shoulder, but gently so that it wouldn't startle him. He turned and smiled as he noticed her. There was still a lot of shyness and insecurity in his smile, but she was happy to see how those were beginning to fade away, a bit more with each day. She smiled as she thought back of the day when he first stepped into Life during her shift, a month or so after she moved in. He looked terrified that day, almost as if he felt he did something wrong.

"Hi," he said, placing his camera on the bar, giving her his full attention. He always did that. She liked that.

She took a seat on the stool beside him, crossing one leg over the other. Her short skirt rose a bit as she did, fleshing a bit more of her thigh in the process, and Mark looked away sharply, as if to hide the blush that rose on his cheeks. She was about to say something about that when Steven showed up as he always did, out of nowhere, placing a steaming mug in front of Mark.

"There you go," he said. "Can I get you anything else?" he added, throwing a side-grin in her direction. She rolled her eyes in reply. He could be so childish.

"No, thanks," replied Mark, shaking his head.

"Apple pie with ice-cream. With two spoons. And if anyone asks, I'm on a break," she said, giving Steven a no-nonsense look.

Steven looked as if he wanted to make a nasty comment, but luckily he didn't. "Coming right up," he said and vanished.

Mark waited until none of the waiters was around, and then he turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in silent question. "Ice-cream in the middle of the winter?"

"Of course. It's the best time for ice-cream. The only time it doesn't melt all over. Besides, someone has to feed you," she said, smiling teasingly. "You're way too skinny."

"Oh, look who's talking," he smirked. "Besides, one of the reasons I left Scarsdale was so that I wouldn't have to listen to this every single day."

She laughed softly. "Sorry." She watched him as he carefully sipped his tea. "But seriously. The moment I get my paycheck, which is in about a week, I'm going to make sure you'll have a decent dinner."

"What, you're gonna cook?" he asked, trying to look terrified.

She hit his arm, giggling. "No, I'm gonna take you out for a nice restaurant."

Now he really looked terrified. He actually went pale, looking at her wide-eyed. "Li-like a d-date?" he asked weakly.

She didn't realize that it did sound like a date until he asked that. Shit. How could she reply to _that_? "Of course not, silly," she said as lightly as she could. "Like a friend who thinks that her friend needs some meat on his bones." It sounded lame, even to her ears, but Mark wasn't the guy to argue with her, although he obviously didn't buy that.

They sat quietly for a while as Steven got back with their pie and ice-cream, but it was a comfortable silence, not an awkward one. Inside, she was still cursing herself for her slip. Mark's stammered question still echoed in her ears, mocking her. God, she hoped it didn't put any ideas in the boy's head. She hoped it didn't sound as if she was encouraging those feelings he obviously had for her, because she wasn't. She didn't want to mislead him. It's not as if she felt anything back.

"So what's up?" she asked casually, hoping to take the conversation away from the awkward note it started in.

"I've got something for you," said Mark, smiling, as he took something out of his coat pocket. It was a page he probably ripped out of the paper. He straightened it on the counter, and handed it to her.

She took it and knew exactly what he wanted her to see there. She shook her head and handed him the paper back. "That's sweet, Mark, but I can't," she said quietly.

He looked as if he wasn't expecting this. "What do you mean, you can't? I thought it was your favorite musical."

"It is. But I just can't."

He looked at her as if she was crazy. "This is an audition. For a Broadway show. Your dream? Remember?"

She laughed softly, suddenly realizing how much change her life underwent in such a short time. "I guess it just doesn't matter anymore," she said slowly, hoping that this way, it would make sense in her head as well. She was thinking about this for a while, she just didn't realize that she did.

"What do you mean?" asked Mark, stuffing the paper back in his pocket.

"I don't want this. Broadway is great but it's just not me. I'm a free spirit, an independent soul. I wanna do things my way. I wanna write my own stuff, sing my own stuff. I could never take orders from some director who thinks he knows better. That's simply not who I am. I need to make my own choices, my own decisions."

Mark sipped his tea and watched her for a moment. Then he slowly smiled. "Should we feel responsible for this sudden shift in your attitude? Now that you had a taste of the wonderful Bohemian world?"

"In a way," she replied, returning his smile. "But I guess I would have understood this myself at some point… one way or another."

"Well… if you'll ever get into Broadway, I promise I'll be there in the front row on opening night."

She laughed softly. "You won't be able to afford it."

Mark smiled mysteriously, as if he knew something she didn't. "I'll be there."

"Well, as it's not gonna happen any time soon, you've got some time to save the money," she said, playing along.

"Doesn't it make you feel kind of disappointed though, to give it all up?" he asked, suddenly serious.

She shook her head. "I'm not giving up. I still wanna be someone. I _will_ be someone," she quickly corrected herself. "I'll simply do it my own way. And Broadway will just have to wait… until it's ready for me," she stated simply, taking a bite from the ice-cream. It made Mark laugh. She suspected he didn't take her too seriously, but she was actually very serious. And now that she knew what she wanted, things felt much easier.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

They walked down the street, both her arms wrapped around one of Mark's, their hands stuck in one of his coat pockets. She was always cold, even with her own coat on. Mark said that is was because she was too skinny. It felt really awkward at first; she still remembered his horrified reaction when she first snuggled against him and stuck her hands in his coat pocket, but as time passed and they started to feel more comfortable with one another, it actually felt nice and familiar. And she found herself waiting for this time of day, when they walked home together.

"What's your middle name?"

"Huh?"

"What's your middle name?"

Mark gave her a side-glance. "What kind of a question is that?"

"It's a great question." Mark gave her a look. She shrugged. "What do you want me to ask? What was your major in college? What do your parents do? I ask only what I wanna know."

"And you wanna know my middle name?"

She smiled. "Yeah. I do."

"It's Jonathan."

"Jonathan," she repeated, trying it out. She smiled. "I like that."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Although it's kind of surprising your parents didn't give you a traditional Hebrew name. Something really old-fashioned like… Jacob or Aaron or…" her forehead wrinkled, and she gave him an appalled look. "Or Moses."

Mark burst into laughter. "You can say a lot of things about my parents, but they were very merciful in naming me and my sisters."

This caught her by surprise. From some reason, she assumed he was an only child. "You have sisters?"

"Yeah. Cindy is the eldest, then me, and then Sophie. She's in college."

"Normal names."

"Thank God for that." She smiled. Indeed. "Hey, what's yours?"

"My middle name?"

"Yeah."

"It's Annabel. But I hate it, I think it's perky," she said, pouting. She really hated her middle name. She'd rather being called Adeline, or Josephine, or May…

"It could have been worse."

"I guess," she shrugged. "Maureen means 'dark,' did you know that?" she said proudly. She strongly believed that your name had the power to reflect your personality.

Mark laughed softly. "No, I didn't."

They continued to walk in silence, as if both had nothing else to say. They never tried to make up conversation when it wasn't really necessary. Sometimes silence was better.

"Too bad you don't wanna try out for that musical," said Mark after a while. "I thought you'd be perfect for the lead."

She laughed. It was kind of weird to get such a compliment from the usually-shy Mark. She was glad he was beginning to open up. "And who said they would have given me the lead?"

"Why wouldn't they? You're an incredible singer, they'd be stupid not to."

She stopped dead on her tracks. She didn't remember singing in his presence. He wasn't there when she joined the Well Hungarians' rehearsal. There was this time when they all went out for that karaoke bar, but the place sucked so badly, she and Roger refused to go onstage and sing. She eyed him suspiciously. "And how do you know I'm an incredible singer?"

Mark colored and looked away, as if he had just realized he shouldn't have let it slip. "I… kind of… happened to listen to you…" he stammered. She gave him a questioning look. "Last week I got back home and you were in the shower…" his voice trailed off. He was blushing madly; it was visible even in the faint light from the street lamps.

She didn't know whether to get pissed at him for invading her privacy that way (because technically he didn't do anything wrong) or be flattered that he actually thought she was good.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he said quickly.

"No, that's… okay," was all she could say. She wasn't sure how she was feeling about this. Suddenly she was feeling slightly uncomfortable, as if he did more than just listening to her as she sang in the shower. And although she knew Mark wasn't the kind of guy to do such a thing, it still felt extremely awkward.

"No, it's not. I didn't mean to embarrass you." She said nothing. He sighed. "Look… I didn't do it on purpose. And I didn't stand outside the bathroom door or anything, I would never…" he stopped and sighed, as if trying to get a grip. "I didn't have to. Your voice just… kind of echoed through the entire loft."

She laughed nervously. "That bad, huh?"

"Are you kidding? You were amazing," he said softly, looking straight at her, making her even more speechless. Then he looked sort of insecure again, and somewhat terrified. "You're gonna smack me now, aren't you?" he asked hesitantly.

She shook her head slowly. "No, I don't think I wanna do that." For a slight second, their gazes locked. She was the first to turn her gaze away, her heart beating a bit faster than usual. They resumed their walk. "But if I'll find out you were filming me, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Mark laughed. She felt relieved for being able to break the ice. She was still bothered by what she has just seen in his eyes, and even more bothered by the suspicion it reflected what was in hers. This made her absolutely terrified. She couldn't be falling for him; this was _Mark_, for heaven's sake. Her roommate, as she told Roxanne and Steven several hours earlier. Sure, he was adorable in his own dorky way, especially when he tried to make the fact that he was in love with her a little less obvious. She always tried to give him the feeling that he was doing well with that. And still…

"So when do I get to see one of those films you promised me?"

"When I'd get to hear one of your songs."

She gave him a look, amused. "Boy, you learned to answer back." Mark smiled, but said nothing. "Fine, I'll let you read them. Although they're not that good anyway."

"Somehow I find it hard to believe."

She snorted. "Please. I can probably tap-dance better than I can write songs."

She wasn't even aware to what she had just said, until Mark stopped and looked at her. "Let's see it then."

"What?" she asked, confused.

"You must be awfully good tap-dancer," said Mark, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

She narrowed her eyes at him and then sighed when she realized she got herself into this. She had _no_ idea how to tap-dance. And Mark seemed to know it pretty damn well. Ugh. She took her hands out of his pocket, blowing into them to keep them warm, and walked back a bit. A nearby streetlamps shed its light upon her, almost like a spotlight in the middle of the deserted street. She closed her eyes with sudden hesitation, then opened them. He'd get his show alright, she thought, a slow smile curling on her lips.

"Uhh, I'm pretty sure that's not how you tap-dance, Maureen," said Mark, who was watching her improvisation of a dance with his arms crossed in front of him.

"Of course it is, shut up and watch- _Fuck_!" It happened in an instant. She tripped on her own feet, lost her balance, slipped and crushed on the snow-covered pavement with a soft thud.

Mark shot himself forward. "_Shit_! Maureen! Are you okay?" He knelt beside her, looking panicked. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm okay, my nice, fat ass softened the fall," she laughed, although her back side hurt like hell. So did her left leg, over which she tripped.

"You don't have a nice, fat… I mean you do… have a nice… I mean… Are you hurt?"

Under any other circumstances she'd stop and inquire this thing he had just said about her ass, but not now. "I don't know if I can move," she said weakly, biting her lower lip. She couldn't pretend it didn't hurt because it fuckin' did. She hoped she didn't break anything.

"Well…" said Mark slowly. "We could sit here for a while, but it's freezing and wet and I don't want you to catch a cold."

"It really hurts, Mark," she said, fighting back tears. She was determined not to cry in front of him.

To her complete astonishment, Mark raised his hand to her face and gently wiped some tears that still managed to escape, using his thumb. "I know it hurts," he said softly. "But you're not really dressed for sitting in the snow, with this skirt, so we gotta take you out of here. So come on, put your arms around my neck."

She gave him a look, unsure whether to laugh or cry. "Are you gonna carry me home?"

"This is exactly what I'm gonna do," Mark replied evenly.

She didn't even try to protest when he slipped his arms under her and carefully picked her up. She really didn't think she could make it home on her own. She looked at him gratefully. "Thank you."

Mark smiled. "You're welcome. Ready to go?"

"Yeah," she answered miserably, leaning her head against his corduroy-clad shoulder. Suddenly, there was nothing she wanted more than a warm shower and her bed.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

It looked as if they walked in on a make-out session, for two heads looked back at them from the couch, trying to adjust to the sudden light. She recognized Roger's dirty-blonde hair in a second. His clothes were rumpled. April was peering from behind his shoulder, her long red hair in tangles, her clothes messed up. Then Roger seemed to focus, and he got up from the couch and hurried towards them. "Mark, what the fuck?" he asked, taking her from Mark. She felt numb and tired. She was soaked to the bone and shivering violently. She snuggled closer to Roger's chest. He smelled like April's perfume.

"Hey, is she okay?" asked April as she approached them as well.

"She fell and hurt her leg. I don't think it's broken," said Mark, slipping out of his coat. He spread it on their metal table and nodded towards it. "Here, put her down."

Roger did. She laid back, even though the table was extremely uncomfortable. She pressed her cheek against Mark's coat. It was still warm. Mark was standing next to her, running a hand through her hair soothingly. She watched Roger, who took off her shoe and felt her left foot. She held back a curse and some more tears as the sharp pain went through her like a knife. His touch was gentle, but it still hurt.

He looked up at her. "It doesn't seem broken, but we'd better check it out at the hospital just in case."

"I don't think we should take her out again tonight, Roger, it's really cold," said Mark. "And we need to warm her up. Is the heat on?"

"Is the heat _ever_ on?"

"You guys, I'll be okay. I just need a shower."

Mark and Roger exchanged one look, then looked at her, somewhat intimidated. She rolled her eyes. Boys. "You don't have to go in there with me." This seemed to calm them down. "Just help me get there."

"I don't think it's a good idea you'll go in there alone," said Mark.

"I'll help her," said April. "I'll get your stuff, Maureen. You boys just make sure she'll get to the bathroom safely, okay?"

The boys nodded and April disappeared down the hall. Roger came over to stand on the other side of the table, looking down at her. "You're still shivering."

She flashed him a faint smile. "I'm okay. Really. I feel better."

Roger bent down as if to pick her up again. Mark stopped him. "That's okay, Roger, I'll take her."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Go back to uhh… whatever the hell you two were doing when we walked in."

Roger's face turned bright red as he ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. "Yeah. Right." He leaned down and placed a small kiss on her forehead. "I see you're well taken care of here," he said, glancing at Mark. "Call me if you need anything, okay? Don't worry about waking me up or anything."

"Okay. Thanks Roger."

"No problem. Night guys."

They watched Roger as he vanished in the hall. Then Mark looked down at her, and smiled. "Ready to get up again, Annabel?"

She frowned and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, just shut up, Cohen."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Will you be okay?" asked Mark, tucking the blankets more closely around her, still looking worried.

"Actually… would you mind staying here with me tonight?" she asked slowly. She didn't want to be alone, because she wasn't sure she could make it to the guys' rooms in case she'd need one of them. On the other hand, it might have been the wrong thing to say to Mark, who looked completely taken-aback.

"Uhh, I… I mean… Sure, if you want me to," he stammered uncertainly.

"If you don't mind," she repeated, her gaze never leaving his.

He didn't say anything for a little while. He looked transfixed. Then he seemed to come back to his senses as he slowly nodded. "Okay. I'll just change. I'll be right back."

"Mark," she said, stopping him just as he reached the doorknob. He turned and looked at her questionably. In spite of the pain that was still pounding in her leg, in spite of the fact she was cold and tired, she smiled at him. "Thank you for today."

It seemed to embarrass him. He returned her smile as he nodded, and left the room.

She laid on her side and snuggled deeper into the covers. The room was cold; it felt as if she was inside a refrigerator. She smirked to herself. She could bet Roger and April found a way to keep warm. She closed her eyes, letting herself doze off until Mark would be back.

She couldn't believe this day ended the way it just did. She dreaded the thought of going to the hospital the next day to get her leg checked, but she knew she didn't have much choice. She already had a nasty bruise on the back of her thigh, and she feared it's gonna get even nastier in a day or two. At least the guys promised to go with her. They were really sweet to her, even April, whom she knew very little. She had never seen Roger so worried as she had seen him less than an hour ago. She couldn't believe how close they all became in such a short time. Collins was right. It did feel like they were all family.

The door creaked open, making her open her eyes. As they adjusted to the darkness she made out Mark's features, illuminated by the faint light from down the hall. He walked in hesitantly and stopped at the foot of her bed. "I think I'm gonna crush here for the night," he said, nodding towards the floor.

"You're not serious, right? You'll freeze to death down there," she said, making efforts to sit up. She pulled the covers back. "Come on, come here."

"H-here?" he echoed, looking horrified.

"Well, it _is_ warmer," she pointed out.

Mark mumbled something she couldn't quite make out, and then walked over and crawled under the covers, leaving his glasses on her nightstand. She moved a bit to make some room for him too. He laid behind her and pulled the covers back over both of them. "Better?" he asked, his lips close to her ear.

"Much better," she replied, cuddling against him. It felt nice; especially as he finally seemed to loosen up a bit. "Just do your best not to kick my leg during the night, will ya?"

"Ha, ha."

"Good night Marky," she mumbled, already half asleep. She hardly heard his reply. As she drifted off to slumber, she thought how safe and warm it felt, to be held by someone that way. And she realized how much she needed that. Sure, she was a free spirit, but even those needed someone to be there for them every once in a while, she rationalized.

Mark's breath was soft against her neck, tickling her, and it suddenly dawned on her that she couldn't stop thinking about him. This was something that never happened to her before. Little details from that evening flashed through her mind, bothering her, keeping her awake with dangerous thoughts. Of course, everyone knew how Mark felt about her. He kind of gave himself away in telling Collins, and Roger seemed to know all about it too by the look he had given them before he went to his room. It didn't even escape Roxanne and Steven, who hardly knew him. Sure, protesting that nothing could happen between them was easier than facing the true, but what was the truth?

She closed her eyes again, determined to fall asleep and leave all those confusing, torturing thoughts for the next day, although she feared she knew the answer. Because honestly, and she would never admit it to either Steven or Roxanne (or Collins, for that matter,) she wasn't sure she didn't start feeling something in return. There was something there, some sort of a new, unfamiliar beginning, like nothing she felt before.

She was sure of one thing. It was definitely not friendship.


	7. Just Some Guy

**A/N- writing this chapter, I was greatly inspired by a song from the musical _Jesus Christ Superstar_ called Don't Know How to Love Him. I've never seen the play, but the song is an old favorite of mine, and I happened to listen to it again on the day I started working on this chapter. I couldn't stop thinking about how perfectly it describes Maureen's situation at this point of the story. When I was listening to it, it felt as if it was Maureen singing it. Kind of weird, but I hope you know what I mean. So not entirely a song-fic, but if you wanna get in the mood for the following chapter, look for the song.**

**Oh yeah, and you might wanna look up this cute one sung by Kristin Chenoweth, called Taylor the Latte Boy, that is, in case you don't know it yet. You'll see why :)**

**6- Just Some Guy**

When they went to the hospital the next day, it turned out that she had sprained her ankle. It got her two weeks off from work, until she was better. It was actually a huge relief for her. For once, she didn't even worry about how she'd get by without these two weeks' salary. There was no way she could walk on her left leg, and she still had bruises all over, so staying at home and doing nothing sounded really tempting. By now, a week later, it started to get on her nerves. Her ankle was taking its time in healing, and since it was still kind of cold out, the boys didn't let her go out any further than the fire escape. They always kept her company when they were home, sitting in the living-room with her or doing stuff for her, but there was no one home now, and she was gazing absent-mindedly at the TV, thinking of nothing in particular.

She raised her head when she heard a key turning in the lock. The door opened and Roger stepped into the loft. "Hey Momo," he said smiling, using the nickname Collins stuck her some time back. "How are ya?"

"I'm bored," she whined. She couldn't take it. She had to do something or she'd simply go nuts.

"How's your ankle?"

"It hurts less. And I don't limp anymore. I guess that's good news."

"That's good. You want anything from the kitchen?" he asked, slipping out of his jacket. Collins sent them some money several days before, which meant that there was some food there for a while.

"No thanks. But I could use some company," she pouted. He was such a sucker for that pout. They all were.

Of course, it had the same affect now. Roger smiled. "Sure. I'll just get something to eat."

Soon afterwards he came over and sat on the couch next to her. He ate his sandwich and told her how his day was. Then when he finished, he looked up at her, suddenly serious. "Can I talk to you about something?"

His expression got her a bit worried. He looked somewhat uncertain. Women problems again? So far everything worked fine between him and April. Or so it seemed. She nodded. "Sure. Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I just…" his voice trailed off, as if he wasn't sure how to continue. "Gah, it's gonna sound like such a girls' talk."

She laughed softly. "Spill it, Roger. What's going on?"

"It's about Mark," he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers.

"What about him?" she asked, making her voice sound as neutral as possible. She was still a bit confused about him, about how close the two of them became so quickly. He was really sweet to her in the passing week. He was always there for her. The only reason he was out right now was because he was out of film reels and he went to get some more.

"I know it's none of my business, but… is there something going on between the two of you?"

She could get really nasty and yell at him that just as he stated, it was none of his business, but she knew that Roger wasn't the guy to ask such a thing for the sake of gossip. No, he probably had some other motive. She sighed. Why wouldn't they all just give it a rest? "Why would you ask that?"

"I think you know why."

She looked away, but quickly turned to look at Roger again, knowing she wouldn't be able to avoid this confrontation with her feelings for much longer. And maybe talking about it would help her figure things out.

But Roger continued before she had a chance to say anything. "Look, Mark is my best friend, for years. I can't even remember for how long. And I don't want to see him get hurt."

"Why do you think he's gonna get hurt?"

He hesitated, and then said, "If I got you right, and I think I did, then you're very much like me. And people like Mark are not the kind of people we usually hook up with."

Okay, that didn't make much sense. He was contradicting himself. "Did I miss anything, or did you really say 30 seconds ago he was your best friend?"

"I did. I'm telling you this because he's my best friend."

"So, what, do you think I'm gonna hurt him?"

"Not intentionally, no. I know you care for him. But I also know he cares for you too. He cares for you a lot; more than you realize. More than _he_ realizes, actually."

"If you two managed to stay best friends for so many years in spite of the fact he's not your usual type to 'hook up with' as you said, what makes you think it's gonna be different between him and me? And just to clear things out, there is _no_ him and me." Yet, she added silently.

"It's different," he said. He looked back, as if to make sure they were alone. Then he continued, his voice a bit lower than before. "Maureen, Mark was never… romantically involved with anyone. He had some girls over the years, but none of them was serious. He's naïve and inexperienced and that doesn't work in his favor. I can only assume it's not your case."

"Explain," she ordered, looking at him through narrow eyes. If he was implying that she was sleeping around, she'd kick his ass.

Roger laughed, as if he knew what was on her mind. "Come on. You know you're gorgeous. I bet they all fall at your feet." Then he got serious again. "All I'm saying is, that if you intend to do the same to Mark's heart, just… drop it. He's not that kind of guy."

"I know he's not," she said softly. "I promise I won't hurt him. Okay? Does that make you feel better?"

"Yeah. It does." A devilish smile curled on his lips as he leaned forward. "So, what _is_ going on between the two of you?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"This is ridiculous! The stupidest thing I've ever heard!" laughed Mark.

She frowned. "It's not ridiculous, it's _art_! Tell him, Roger!"

"It's art, Mark," Roger repeated obediently, trying to keep a straight face, but soon he cracked up, joining Mark's laughter. "I swear she's got way too many painkillers in her system."

There were tears in Mark's eyes, and he tried to wipe them away, as if that would help to stop his laughter. "No doubt."

"You two just don't get it!" she insisted. She had just finished writing the greatest song, but when she showed it to them, they wouldn't stop laughing at her. "Plus, it's based on a true story, mind you."

"Oh, that definitely changes things," said Roger, rolling his eyes. "Know what, if there's really a guy like that at Starbucks, I can't wait to go over there and read it for him."

"So we're assuming that you're… what was the girl's name? Carrie?"

"Carol, and no, I wrote it about a friend. How do you think I got to know him on the first place?"

"I bet you the 'friend' she's talking about is Collins," said Roger, nudging Mark's arm. "I'll be damned, it even sounds a bit like Carol," he added, and the two of them cracked up again, laughing even louder than before. "Maureen, you're an amazing song-writer, you really are," said Roger when they finally calmed down. "But this… this…" his voice trailed off, as if he wasn't sure how to define her new song. He gave up and fell into another series of uncontrollable giggles.

"It's a love song, it's catchy, it's gonna be a hit!"

Mark, who was sitting on the couch beside her, reached over and snatched her notebook from her before she managed to stop him. "_Taylor the Latte Boy, brings me Java, brings me joy, Taylor the Latte Boy, I love him, I love him, I love him_."

"Catchy, indeed," Roger smirked. "Maureen, this is crap!"

"It's not!"

"Well, unfortunately, I don't have time to sit here and argue with you about the quality of this… song? Well, I guess you can call it that," he said, getting up. "I'm late for our sound check. See you guys tomorrow."

"You're gonna stay at April's tonight?"

"Not sure yet. See ya!"

They watched Roger as he left the loft, and then Mark turned to look at her, a small grin still stuck to his face. After her conversation with Roger couple of days ago, she tried to avoid being alone with Mark. She needed to think it through. She still had no answers, so she just thought she'd let things happen, and come what may.

"It _is_ a crappy song, you know," he said.

"Whatever, you two have a _really_ bad taste," she pouted.

He laughed, but it soon died out as he didn't have Roger to encourage him. "How's your ankle?"

"And you really need to come up with a more original question," she said kind of bluntly, suddenly feeling nervous. Being alone with him, which was so natural just days before, started to feel uncomfortable. She wasn't even sure how to act around him anymore. Every little thing he said or did made her blush. She was so tipsy and confused, so unlike her usual, confident self. No one managed to do that to her, ever. Why was he different?

Mark looked surprised and slightly offended. "Sorry, I was just-"

The phone rang suddenly, saving them from delving deeper into the issue of her changing moods. The machine picked up. "Speeeaaak!"

"Mark? Are you there? Are you screening your calls again? It's me, mom." She saw him screwing his face in discontent. "Well, I'm just calling so see how you are, and to tell you that Cindy had just got back with the ultrasound results, and we're expecting a baby boy! Isn't it exciting? Be a good brother and give her a call, honey. I'll talk to you soon. Bye!"

They sat in silence for several minutes. "Congratulations," she said quietly.

"Thanks."

More silence. "Do you _ever_ call her back?"

He looked up at her. His eyes looked huge, and remarkably blue. "I just wish she'd give me some space," he said, kind of desperately. "I love my mom, I really do, but she's just… everywhere. Even after I managed to get out of there."

"Must be nice to get so much attention from your parents though." God knew that she never had.

"It can get on your nerves pretty easily, trust me."

"You'd miss it if you lived my family," she said. "If my brother was about to have a baby, you can be sure I wouldn't have known about its existence until the kid is at least three."

Mark smiled. "It can't be that bad."

"Oh, it can," she said, shaking her head sadly. She knew she wasn't supposed to care. That was the way things were and there wasn't anything she could do to change it. No matter how much she wished sometimes that everything would be different. "I think you're lucky than most others, you know. Your parents may not like what you chose to do here, and they can be a real pain in the ass most of the time, but at least you can be sure they'd be there for you if you get in trouble. That's more than you can say about my parents."

"Well… I guess we always want what we can't have," he said slowly, and sort of sadly. Somehow she got the feeling he wasn't talking just about his family.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she said quietly. It really wasn't his fault that she was messed up emotionally. Well, it _was_ his fault, sort of, but he wasn't supposed to know that.

"That's okay. I know it's frustrating to stay locked up here all day, but it's not for long; just until you're better."

She thought it was the right time to thank him. "You've done so much for me ever since it started. I thought you should know how much I appreciate it."

"It's nothing," he said meekly. He didn't even blush this time, she noticed. "Actually I feel kind of guilty."

"Why?"

"Because if it wasn't for my stupid wish to see you tap-dance, this would never have happened."

She laughed. "Mark, it's not your fault. I could trip over something at work. You just happened to be there."

"Making you tap-dance on a wet pavement."

"Listen to me. This is _not_ your fault. I'm not blaming you. If anything, I should be grateful for these two weeks off." He smiled. She hesitated, but then inched closer. He didn't seem to notice. "If I'll ask you something, will you answer me?"

"Was there ever a time I didn't answer your questions?"

"That's a 'yes' then."

"Yeah… I guess. It depends how weird it is this time."

"It's not weird at all. I just wanna know something."

"You always say that. And then they're always weird."

"Not this one."

"Okay. Let's hear it then."

"Okay." But the words didn't come to her. She had to ask it, even though she thought she knew the answer. "You didn't have to do all that for me; keeping me company at work, staying with me here when I got this time off. You could just leave me here to rot for the past two weeks, but you didn't. You were always here." She looked up at him. By what she saw in his eyes, she knew he was beginning to regret letting her ask her question. "Why?"

It took him a while, and then he said, "What do you mean 'why'? You're my friend, you're my roommate, of course I-"

She reached over and took his hand, slowly lacing her fingers with his. His voice trailed off and he followed her movements, transfixed. "Why, Mark?" she whispered, looking up at him again.

"I… don't know what you mean," he said weakly.

"I mean that I don't buy this 'you're my friend-slash-roommate' crap. I want you to tell me the truth." He said nothing. He sat there and stared at his jeans as if they were the most interesting item on the planet. She was still holding his hand, and now she gave it a little squeeze, as if to shake him off his reverie. "You said you'd answer," she reminded him, looking at him persistently.

"I… I don't feel comfortable with this."

"Me neither," she slowly nodded. "This is why I have to know."

"D-don't you know already?" he asked, not really looking at her.

"Even if I do, I need to hear you say it."

"Why?"

"Because if you want us to make some sort of a progress, you must tell me how you feel." She moved to sit even closer, and this time he noticed and tried to back away, but he was already leaning against the armrest of the couch. She looked at him seriously. "If you want anything to happen between us, we must clear this thing out."

For a moment, she was sure he'd try to get away with it again. He looked away, and then back at her. Straight at her. "I did all that for you… because I like you," he said quietly, plain and simple, without even stuttering.

Of course, she expected that answer, but somehow, listening to him admitting this made her heart melt. "Good," she smiled. "Because I like you too."

It seemed to catch him off-guard. He stared at her. "You… you do?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

The way he asked it was absolutely heart-breaking. It was as if he wasn't expecting anyone to like him. Well, if anything was about to happen between the two of them, the first thing she'd have to do would be to raise the boy's self-confidence, and the sooner the better. "What do you mean, 'why'? There are no rules, you know," she laughed softly. "I just do."

"No, but I mean… I'm nothing special… I'm just… some guy. And you could have any guy you wanted."

She shook her head. "I don't want any guy," she said quietly. "Have you ever had a girlfriend, Mark?" she asked, absent-mindedly rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand.

"Does first grade count?" he asked kind of nervously.

"Not really, no," she laughed softly. She couldn't sit any closer to him than she already did. She looked into his eyes. She never really noticed his eyes because of his glasses, she figured. And now he was sitting so close, she found herself drowning in them. It felt so strange. "What are you doing to me…" she murmured, half to him, half to himself.

"I'm not doing anything," he said, his voice as low as hers. He was still staring at her, as if trying to guess her next move. Well, there was only one thing she wanted to do now. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his lips. She pulled away couple of seconds afterwards, her gaze locking with his again. He looked hesitant and a bit scared even, but the next moment when she did it again, he met her halfway through, kissing her back.

She didn't know what to expect. He was, after all, inexperienced. So she set up a slow, sensual pace in case he'd chicken out, but there seemed to be no need in doing that. This was when she came to believe in the oh-so-cliché phrase, expect the unexpected. Mark was actually a good kisser. He was still somewhat hesitant at first, but he lost it somewhere along the way, as their kisses became more fervent.

"You kiss by the book," she said breathlessly as they pulled away.

"You sound surprised," Mark replied, a cute yet satisfied grin curling on his lips.

"Very," she whispered, touching his chin, bringing him closer for another kiss. The next time they pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. She was now laying on top of him, her arms against his chest.

"I can't believe this," he whispered, smiling like a little kid who had just gotten what he wanted for his birthday. His hands were on her waist, slowly caressing her sides under her T shirt, as if he didn't dare going any further. She slid her hands down until they were just above his, and brought them up under her shirt to where the clasp of her bra was. "Maureen, I don't- " he started, once he seemed to realize what she was trying to do.

"Shh…" she whispered, slowly letting go of his hands, letting them drift to her sides again. She'd take it slow for him, she told herself. She didn't care. She just wanted to be with him. This never happen to her before. She never dreamt it'd happen with someone like Mark. She could always take care of herself. She always managed on her own, but after she sprained her ankle, she realized she would not always be able to do that. There were times she needed to be taken care of. Mark would take care of her; she just knew he would.

She leaned down to kiss him again, and as it gained more passion she sat up, gently pulling him into a sitting position with her. Then she slowly broke the kiss, and with no further words took his hand in hers, got up, and led him down the dark hall to his bedroom.


	8. Only Us, Only This

**A/N- I've decided to be nice and update sooner because I'm so happy it's finally the weekend! Thanks for those of you who reviewed, keep it up!**

**7- Only Us, Only This**

She woke up and didn't remember where she was. She opened her eyes slowly to meet Mark's sleeping face. He was laying on his back, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took, his mouth slightly open. She smiled. Poor thing, he looked completely exhausted. Her body was pressed against his side, her head on his shoulder, one arm draped over his stomach. She felt loved and warm and protected; she tried to remember when was the last time she felt that way. Most of the times, waking up next to the person she spent the night with made her regret the previous night altogether. Funny, it wasn't how she felt right now. She stayed still, closing her eyes again, letting the sound of his breath lull her back to sleep.

"Mark, do you still have my-" The doorknob turned, and the door opened. She instinctively sat up and pulled the covers around her just as Roger stepped in. Her sleepy gaze met his very awake one. They stared at one another. Another half a second passed before he realized what was going on. His eyes widened; his jaw nearly fell to the floor. "Oh _shit_! Sorry guys, I was never here." The door closed just as quickly, and the sound of his steps echoed as he hurried down the hall.

Shit. This was _not_ how she planned to break this to everyone. It happened so fast, she wasn't sure what was it in Roger's eyes, under the complete astonishment that was obviously there. Was it repulsion, or confusion, or awe? Probably a combination of all the above. They were, after all, the most unlikely pair to get together, putting aside the fact that Roger could have seen it coming, sooner or later, in light of their conversation several days before. She just hoped he was reasonable enough to keep it for himself for a while. She wanted to talk to Collins alone. Maybe things would be less confusing after she would.

"Was that Roger?" asked a sleepy voice from behind her.

She turned, and couldn't help but smile. Mark was sitting against the bed-board, naked from his waist up, his hair more tousled than ever. She nodded. "Yep, that was Roger."

And then he seemed to realize what it meant, and his face turned pink. "Did he… see us like… this?"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"I know. I'll go out and talk to him. I think we scared the hell out of him."

Mark laughed softly and touched her hand, a bit hesitantly. He looked as if he still couldn't believe it was happening. Well, she was actually starting to feel the same. But it didn't feel like they did a huge, terrible mistake, like she first feared might happen. No, actually, it felt quite right.

He seemed to misinterpret her silence though. "You don't… regret it, do you?" he asked, looking terrified at the thought that she might have.

She shook her head slowly, and moved closer to him. She let the covers drop as she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. It caught him somewhat off-guard, but he soon caught up with her, his arms slowly embracing her waist. For a moment, she just lost herself in their kiss. She forgot all about having to go out there and give Roger an explanation, about her still sore ankle. Nothing else existed. Mark trailed one finger down her spine, making her shiver. She buried her head in his shoulder, doing her best not to make any sound, knowing Roger was someplace at the loft.

And then she remembered what she was supposed to do. Crap. She pulled away reluctantly and placed a small kiss on Mark's nose. "I'd better go and talk to Roger."

Mark nodded. His cheeks were flushed, his lips a bit swollen from their kisses. He looked so adorable. He put on his glasses and looked around the room for a moment, and then reached for a shirt at the foot of his bed. She raised her arms so he'd be able to pull it over her head. Once she had the shirt on, she went out of bed. "Maureen?" he said when her hand was on the doorknob. She turned, looking at him questionably. He smiled, his face slightly pink. "Last night was… I mean, I…"

She smiled. She knew exactly what he was trying to say. "I know. Me too."

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She found Roger in the kitchen, aimlessly pacing back and forth, making probably more noise than was really necessary. He raised his head from whatever the hell he was doing when she walked in. He stopped to watch her, as if to take in the way she looked wearing his best friend's T shirt.

She smiled sheepishly. It _was_ kind of awkward. "Don't you knock?"

"Before getting into Mark's room? Never. It's not that I'm expecting to find a gorgeous, _naked_ girl in his bed!" he hissed, looking over her shoulder as if to make sure Mark wouldn't hear it.

"Well… I think you'd better get used to it," she said slowly, carefully glancing at him.

He gaped at her. "Are you two…?"

"We had a long talk last night. Yeah, I think we'd give it a shot." He still didn't say anything. "I hope you're gonna be okay with it," she added, a bit hesitant. What if he wasn't?

A slow smile formed of his face. "Are you kidding? My best friend is finally getting some; you must be my new hero."

She laughed. Yeah. That was more like Roger. "Oh, and Roger. Don't say anything about it to anyone yet, okay? I kind of wanna tell Collins myself."

"Sure thing," said Roger, unusually serious. "I'm really happy for you, Momo. I think you deserve a guy like him. I sure hope he deserves _you_."

She smiled. "Thanks, Roggie."

Roger went slightly pale, a bit panicked even. "Oh no. No one's been calling me _that_ since 4th grade. Don't bring it back now."

She looked at him strangely. "Sorry."

Mark walked in. He was wearing sweatpants and a white T shirt, and his hair looked a bit damp. He had that hesitant expression, as if he wasn't sure how much Roger knew at that point. "Morning," he murmured, going over to their coffee machine.

Roger smiled slyly. "Good morning. I'm hearing you had a good night, too."

Mark turned to shoot her a look. She was glaring at Roger. He shrugged. "Sorry, couldn't help it," he mumbled, not a trace of apology in his voice.

"Yeah, well, try," said Mark, but he obviously could care less about his friend's teasing. He looked as if he was expecting this. He handed her a cup of coffee with a small, almost unnoticeable smile.

Roger took a seat across from them. He observed them for a moment as the three of them drank their coffee, and then said, "Well, if it means you're gonna… do stuff… I'd like you to show some consideration for those who share a wall with you."

"Hmm. Funny, I don't remember _you_ ever did," said Mark, a victorious grin curling on his lips.

Roger stared at Mark, pretending to be shocked. "He answers back! What did you do to him, Maureen?"

She smiled mysteriously and sipped her coffee, silent. Well, some things were better to be left unknown.

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Roger went out that evening again, but whether he went out with April or for another gig, she didn't know. He teased them all morning, so having him gone was a kind of relief. She was happy he was okay with it, though. She hated the thought of convincing him to accept them. She wondered how she was going to break this to Collins, and suspected he'd probably tease them just as Roger did, if not more so.

They were watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ now, laying on the shabby couch in the living-room, sharing one blanket. Mark had one of his arms wrapped around her, and he commented on parts of the movie every now and again, whispering softly in her ear. She didn't pay much attention to the movie though. Her mind was completely elsewhere.

It felt so new, yet so comfortable at the same time. She wondered if it was because they came to know each other so well by now. That was probably it. They knew everything there was to know about each other. They didn't try to impress one another with things that weren't there. Mark would be good for her, she knew. He'd tame her, and she needed to be tamed, at least part of the time.

She sighed. She just hoped she'd be able to do that. She never was in a relationship. Not that she didn't want to. It's just that the guys she went out with so far started to bore her after a while. After a really short while, as a matter of fact. But Mark definitely wasn't one of those guys. He wasn't the type for a one-night stand, and this was not what she wanted at all. Not this time. She wanted to keep him, she really did… she just hoped she'd be able to. It suddenly dawned on her that just as she was his first, in a way, he was hers.

Mark nuzzled her neck, shaking her out of her reverie. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing, I was just… thinking."

"What were you thinking about?"

"About us, actually," she replied. She turned to face him, but the couch suddenly felt so narrow, that she was afraid she'd roll over and fall. So she shifted a bit, and laid on top of him. She thought it'd scare him, but he didn't look half scared. He just kept watching her with that silent question in his eyes, visible even in the dim light from the TV. "I don't regret last night, Mark. And I don't regret this. I just… I'm scared," she admitted. It wasn't like her, to make such confessions. But then again, it wasn't like her to be scared, too.

"Why?"

"Because now it feels right. But what if it won't, after a while? What if I'll bore you, or you'll bore me, and we'll end up killing each other?" He smiled, but didn't say anything, just gave her that look he always did when he gave her his full attention. "Mark, I wanna do this, I really do. But in all the times I've even considered a long-termed relationship… let's just say that if this one works, you'll be my first."

"Well, you're mine," he said quietly, taking her hand and lacing his fingers with hers. "That makes both of us beginners." She smiled. He was speaking out her own thoughts. "Look… we can't tell what's gonna happen. I mean, look at Collins." She knew he was still devastated about Collins' being HIV+. So was she. "If this will last a week or a month, I'll be fine with it, because at least we had that. Of course I'd want this to last longer, but who knows what's gonna happen. So don't think about what's gonna be in the future because you can't know. Right now, this is what you want?"

She looked at him honestly. "Right now… this is what I want."

"Then forget about all the rest."

"I'll try," she smiled, leaning down to kiss him. She felt him smile against her lips as his arms tightened around her, holding her close. She pulled away for a moment, stopping to take off his glasses. He followed her with his eyes as she did. Then when she leaned to kiss him again, it was more fervent. None of them seemed to want to stop; not even for air. Her both hands were under his shirt, ready to pull it off, when a familiar noise made them both raise their heads with a start.

"Shit, there's someone at the door," Mark breathed, struggling to sit up and find his glasses at the same time. The door opened just as he managed to snatch them from the table. Benny and Collins stepped in, in the middle of a conversation it seemed. They both stopped talking, though, when they noticed them on the couch.

"What's… going on here?" Collins asked slowly, moving his glance from her to Mark, and back to her again. He seemed to have figured it out.

Benny did, too, apparently, for he gave Mark an incredulous look. "You lucky son of a bitch."

Mark didn't reply, just smiled and clicked on the lamp at the side of the couch. Collins walked into the living-room and took a seat on the armchair facing them. They were sitting now, still against one another under the blanket. "So how long is this going on?" he asked, obviously very much amused.

She took Mark's arm and checked his watch. "A bit less than 24 hours."

"Seems like I got home just on time. Silly me, I thought I'd find you here injured and alone," he said, a bit too dramatically.

"Nah, the boys took a very good care of me."

"Oh, I can see _that_," Collins said slyly, raising his eyebrows.

"Shut up, Collins."

Benny joined them from the kitchen, with a bottle of beer in his hand. Ever the tactless, he sat on the other side of the couch, resting his legs against the coffee table. He still looked a bit shaken about what Collins and him had just walked in on. She wondered what he was doing there. They haven't seen much of him in a while.

"So, Benny, long time no see," said Mark, as if reading her thoughts. "What did we do to deserve your presence?"

"I just came to give you my share of the rent, and to have a quick shower. My boss invited me for dinner with his family." He sounded extremely proud of that.

"Been promoted?"

"Not yet, but pretty soon, I hope." He took another sip of his beer and got up, leaving the bottle on the table. "Well, I'm off. See you in a bit."

The three of them watched him as he disappeared down the hall. Then she looked at Collins, who was watching her and Mark. Their eyes met and he smiled at her. "How long you're gonna be here?" she asked.

"Just for a couple of days, I'm afraid. I wanted to come over sooner when Mark called to tell me you fell, but I was in the middle of things and they wouldn't let me leave." Then a slow smile formed on his lips. "You have no idea how adorable the two of you look."

Although his smile seemed honest, she couldn't decide whether he was serious or sarcastic. Either way, she could feel her cheeks turn red. She guessed that Mark wasn't far behind. She smiled to herself. Yeah, she'd definitely keep him. For as long as she'd be able to.

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Three months later, and things were pretty much the same. Against all her doubts and wildest expectations, she and Mark were still together. He moved into her room the week before, which earned them some more teasing from the rest of the boys, but she didn't care. She couldn't remember when she was as happy as during those months. They hardly ever separated, except for when she had to be at work. They were alone most of the time; Collins was away again, Benny was dividing his time between work and his boss' daughter, with whom he was dating for over a month now. Roger was hardly around as well. When he was, he acted kind of weird, spending a lot of time in his room, moody and quiet than usual. When she tried to ask him if something was wrong, he always found ways to avoid giving her any answers, never really looking at her when insisting everything was fine.

She frowned. Roger was obviously going through something, but she assumed that he would turn to Mark if he needed to talk about it. She'd talk to Mark about it, she decided when she unlocked the door and stepped into the loft. "Hey! I'm back!"

Mark was on the phone. He turned to look at her, looking somewhat distressed, and then brought his attention back to the call. "Yeah, I'm here. I don't know yet." She slipped out of her shoes and walked over to sit on his lap. Their eyes met and he smiled, but she could tell something was bothering him. "No, I just don't know… this Friday?" he asked hesitantly, giving her a dubious look. "Well, I think she'll have to work on Friday. No, mom, she can't just take a day off, it doesn't work that way." He paused, as if to listen, and then he sighed wearily. "Fine, I'll ask her. Cindy and Sophie are gonna be there? Okay, I'll give you a call tomorrow. I will. Bye." He hung up, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Your mom?" she asked, slowly wrapping her arms around his neck.

"My mom. She wants us to come over to dinner this Friday. As you heard, I'm trying to get us out of that, but she can be extremely persistent."

"Then why don't we go and get this over with?"

He looked at her as if she was crazy. "You wanna spend the weekend with my family at Scarsdale?"

"Well, we'll have to go sooner or later. You won't be able to hide me forever, you know," she said teasingly, poking his sides. Then she looked at him seriously. "Come on, Mark. It can't be that bad."

"Don't you have to work on Friday?" he asked, in that tone that implied that she already got him hooked.

"Actually, I don't. It was supposed to be a surprise." She smiled, slowly running her fingers through his hair. "What do you say, Pookie? You'll do this for me?"

He gave her a look. "_Pookie_?" he echoed, his eyebrow raised.

"You're kind of missing the point here, baby," she whispered, leaning forward, her lips grazing the skin of his neck.

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Ugh, fine. You win." She smiled. She always did. "We'll go. But whatever happens, remember it was _you_ who wanted to go."

He sounded like such a little boy. It made her smile wider. "Fine."

Mark frowned. "Fine."

She laughed softly and planted a small kiss on his nose. "Fine."

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"Maureen! Are you gonna go out of there this century? We're gonna miss the train!"

She ignored the question, but there was unmistakable nervousness on Mark's voice that upset her. The poor thing was a wreck. She remembered one time in which he went over for a visit at Scarsdale, when she first came to live with them. It's been a while, and he obviously wasn't thrilled to go now. She sighed, looking hesitantly at her reflection in the mirror. Maybe she shouldn't have pressed him to go there. Maybe she shouldn't have tried to solve the problems of his family simply because she couldn't handle hers.

She also had her doubts. Would they like her even though she didn't share their beliefs? Would she like them? Did she look okay? She spent hours going over her clothes, trying to find something decent enough for a dinner with her boyfriend's parents, but nothing seemed to fit. It made her feel so frustrated. This was when she started having second thoughts. She knew they'd have to go there either way. If anything, she was the one insisting on it in the first place.

"Maureen!"

She took a deep breath, and slipped into her shoes. No time for second thoughts. They were running late. She sprayed some perfume into her cleavage and behind her ears and stuffed the bottle in her backpack. Then she walked out to the living-room, trying to regain a bit of self-confidence.

Two heads looked up at her as she walked in. Mark, who was pacing back and forth the living-room, stopped dead on his tracks. Benny just raised his head from his paperwork and slowly smiled.

"Do I look okay?" she asked hesitantly, looking down at her soft gray knee-length skirt and black collared shirt.

Mark walked over to her and kissed her cheek. "You look beautiful," he said quietly, as if to keep it away from Benny.

"Benny?" She wasn't sure why she needed _his_ approval. Probably because he knew the Cohens, being Mark's roommate in college. If anyone knew if she was about to fit their standards, Benny was the guy.

"Well…" said Benny, slowly observing her. Then he looked up at her and smiled. "I didn't know you had a Jewish side in you, Johnson."

She shot him a nasty look. "Thanks for your help, Coffin." She turned to look at Mark, and her features softened. "Ready to go?"

He took the other backpack from the floor and threw it over one shoulder. Then he took her hand, ignoring Benny's looks. "Yeah. Let's go."


	9. Sleepless in Scarsdale

**8- Sleepless in Scarsdale**

They got to Scarsdale a bit after dusk. Mark hardly said anything on the way, and when she asked something, mostly to make sure he was okay, his answers were short and sort of distracted. Eventually she decided to just leave him alone. He was obviously nervous, and she guessed that her repeating inquiries didn't make it any better. So she leaned back in her seat and looked outside the cab's window, watching the rows of picture-perfect houses and well-manicured lawns. It was almost time for dinner, so there weren't many people outside, just some kids on bike that passed by in groups every now and again. It was funny to think of this place as where Mark grew up in, yet at the same time, it was totally believable. Collins' story of Mark's parents crossed her mind. She could suddenly realize their resentment to Mark's decision. It definitely wasn't the place for someone to decide he wanted to go to New York City to make his own films. Oh no. If you were born in Scarsdale, you were probably expected to be the perfect kid who brought home perfect grades and had a perfect girlfriend, to which you would eventually marry and have some perfect kids of your own. Ugh.

She reached over and took Mark's hand in hers. "You okay?"

He didn't even lace his fingers with hers, like she knew he liked to do. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"It's okay to be nervous, you know."

"I'm fine."

Soon the cab stopped in front of one of the houses. It wasn't more unique than the rest of them in any way, just another house in the row. Mark looked out reluctantly, but as he probably realized there was no going back, he paid driver and they stepped out of the cab. She followed him to the front door, suddenly feeling nervous herself. All her doubts and second thoughts from hours before crept back in, worse than ever. What if they wouldn't like her? What if she wasn't dressed properly enough? What if-

A loud clamor rose from the inside. It seemed to be coming from the first floor, which was well-lit. She had no idea how many people were inside, but several days earlier Mark joked about how he wouldn't be surprised if because of their visit, his mother would even call his grandma and aunt in Connecticut. God, she hoped he was kidding. She didn't feel she could handle them all at once.

"It's okay to be nervous, you know." She looked up and realized it was Mark now saying this to her, a cute grin curling on his lips. "Don't worry. Leave that to me." And with that, he reached over for the bell. The sound echoed within the house, followed by some more loud voices which she couldn't make out. A lamp was lit above their heads as a key was turning in the knob, and the door opened.

"_Mark_! You're _finally_ here! We thought we'd have to start without you!"

He stole a glance at her, and then let out a desperate, almost inaudible sigh. "Hi, mom."

"Hi? You haven't been here for ages and this is what you have to say to your mother? At least give me a kiss so I'll know you missed me, Bubele!"

She stifled a giggle as Mark stepped forward reluctantly to kiss his mom on both cheeks. She watched them from were she was standing, half-hidden by the shadows of the falling evening. There was some resemblance between the two, although it wasn't striking. And it was funny because Mark was so damn skinny, while his mom was… well, she wasn't _fat_ per-say. Healthy-looking was more like it. Mark once admitted that his mom was one hell of a cook, which might explain this. She seemed to have missed her little… Bubele was it? For she was hugging him so tightly as if she'd never let him go.

And this was when she realized she was being watched. She snapped out of it, and her gaze met Mrs. Cohen's. The older woman's smile widened. "Oh. So _this_ is why you've been too busy to call us back lately, isn't it?"

"Mom…" Mark hissed, obviously embarrassed.

His mom ignored him, still observing her. "Come here, dearie, so I can have a better look at you. Don't be shy."

She couldn't believe she was doing this. But then she remembered it was _her_ brilliant idea. Of course. She always managed to get herself into trouble somehow. She swallowed her embarrassment and stepped into the light.

"Mom, this is Maureen Johnson. Maureen, that's my mom, Rachel Cohen."

Mrs. Cohen didn't shake her hand right away. She was looking at her inquiringly. "Johnson… is that Jewish?" she asked slowly, sort of confused. She obviously tried to make it sound indifferent, as if it didn't really matter, but there was definitely a hint of disappointment in her voice, that suggested otherwise. She could see Mark wince from over his mom's shoulder. Oh-uh.

"Uhh… no. It's English, as far as I know," she replied hesitantly, her heart racing. This was _not_ good.

There was a short, almost awkward pause, as if Mrs. Cohen had to have a moment to take this in. For a moment, it felt as if she was waiting for her verdict. The silence seemed to be longer than it really was, which wasn't a good sign as far as she was concerned. But then, to her utter surprise, Mrs. Cohen gave her a radiant smile. "Ah well, no one is perfect!" she stated cheerfully, and shook her hand enthusiastically. Behind her, Mark sighed, looking relieved. "You _are_ a pretty little thing. I hope you're taking a _very_ good care of our Marky while he's away."

"Oh, I am. Don't worry about it," she smiled innocently, throwing Mark a suggestive look that escaped his mother. He blushed.

"Well, everyone is anxious to meet you, dearie, so let's not keep them waiting, shall we? Grandma couldn't come over, Mark, something about her bad hip again. And Sophie couldn't leave college this weekend."

Or didn't want to, she thought, as it was time for summer vacation. Her gaze met Mark's and he smiled, as if he was thinking of the exact same thing. He let his mom lead the way, still chatting cheerfully, and then took her hand and led her inside.

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She looked around once they were inside, trying to focus on what Mrs. Cohen was saying, couple of steps ahead, and get as much of her surroundings as possible at the same time. The house looked pretty much like she expected; cozy and homey with framed family pictures hung on walls or laid against shelves. She smiled. She couldn't wait to find Mark in those photos so she'd be able to tease him afterwards.

"You can leave your bags in your father's study, we'll take them upstairs later," said Mrs. Cohen, nodding towards the room as she spoke. Mark took her backpack from her shoulder and disappeared in there for a moment. When he stepped out, his mother smiled again. "Now go and join everyone in the living-room, I have to check on everything in the kitchen."

"So far so good?" she whispered once they were alone.

Mark glanced around, as if to make sure no one was around, and then leaned forward and kissed her quickly. "So far… yeah."

"Courageous, aren't you?" she smiled teasingly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He smirked and gently took her hands off his neck. "Not that much."

"Mark? Was that you?" asked a female voice, and soon afterwards a young woman stepped into the hallway. She assumed this was Cindy, Mark's older sister, because she remembered she was supposed to be 7 months pregnant or so by now. She had pretty much the same complexion as Mark, and the glasses she wore looked expensive and very stylish. A wide grin curled on her lips when she noticed them standing there. "Oh, there you are! Silly mom, had you for herself without telling us you're here!" she said, wrapping Mark in a crushing hug. Must have been running in their family.

"What's up, Cindy?" asked Mark. For once, his smile seemed real. He touched his sister's stomach. "You're huge!"

Cindy laughed. "I know. I feel huge. I can't wait to have him already. Nathan is all excited," she giggled. Then she looked up at her. "You must be Maureen!" she said, reaching out her hand. "I'm Cindy. It's so nice to finally meet you."

"You too," she smiled, shaking Cindy's hand.

"Mark told me so much about you-" From behind his sister, Mark was shaking his head in protest. It made her smile. "And he said you were beautiful, but now I know he wasn't making this up."

"Cindy-" Mark said. He was blushing madly, she noticed.

"What, I'm only telling her the truth! Come on, you have to meet the rest of the family!" said Cindy cheerfully.

"The rest? How many are there?" she whispered in Mark's ear as Cindy led the way to the living-room.

Mark laughed softly, taking her hand. "Don't worry. Probably just my dad, Nathan my brother-in-law and Abigail, my niece. She's three." Which explained the noise they heard from the outside. "My mom loves you, so you'll be fine."

Hopefully, she thought silently, following Mark's lead.

Mark's dad turned out to be less threatening than she thought. Sure, he wasn't as warm as his wife, but he also didn't pretend to appear more important than he really was, like her own dad constantly did. He shook her hand and asked her politely how old she was and what did she do, probably more because he was expected to do so than because he was really interested. Nathan, Cindy's husband, was warmer, and always with a smile on his face like his wife, but he was occupied with little Abbey, as they all called her, who wandered around the living-room, looking for attention. Then shortly afterwards Mrs. Cohen walked in and called everyone to the table.

"Dearie, you can sit here beside me," she said, guiding her towards her seat. Mark's head shot up when he heard it. His eyes widened in horror, as if he wasn't expecting his mom to separate them.

"Mom, that's okay, we'll just-"

"Nonsense, Mark! You have all the time in the world to spend with her, and I only have several hours to get to know her better. Go ahead, dear, have a seat. Mark, you can sit over there, Bubele," she continued, pointing at a seat across from her. Mark sighed, but did as he was told.

Dinner started at a peaceful note after the Friday prayers. Well, peaceful except for Abbey who insisted to have her mashed potatoes outside her plate and not in it. Nathan was extremely patient with her, she noticed. She couldn't imagine herself in his place. She never got along with small children. She always thought it would be best if they could just skip that annoying phase between 2 and 6 years of age. This was probably why she hated babysitting so much. She'd rather have a dog than babies when she's a bit older. Dogs were so much easier to handle.

"So Mark tells me you're a year or so older than our Sophie," Mrs. Cohen's voice snapped her back to reality. She looked up to meet the older woman's inquiring eye. "How is it that _you're_ not in college?"

It felt as if silence fell around the table, like they all waited to hear her reply. Mark looked as if he was willing to say something, probably speak in her defense, but she decided she'd have to deal with this alone. She wasn't ashamed in the choices she has made. And if those people wouldn't like it, screw them. It was her life. "I started college, actually, but I've decided to quit it after a while," she said, looking across from her at Mark. This was the truth. She didn't think she should hide or beautify it. She wasn't made for the academic world. Not everyone were.

"Oh," said Mrs. Cohen, in a tone that indicated that she didn't really understand how anyone could drop out of college. "And it was okay with your parents?"

She smiled bitterly as her parents' reaction crossed her mind again. "Not really, no."

"What do they do?"

"Too many questions, mom," Mark's murmur was quite audible. Their eyes met. He had that desperate expression, as if he knew he wouldn't be able to stop his mom's inquiries whatsoever.

"My father is a lawyer, he runs his own firm with my older brother. My mother is an art designer, but she works mostly from home." The expression on both Mark's parents' faces told her that her father's being a lawyer got her some extra credit. Ah well. At least her family background was useful at _something_.

"You're only two? Your brother and you?"

"Yeah. But it was mostly me. Anthony is much older than me, so he wasn't around much." Which was better, as he was a jerk most of the times, she added silently.

"How is work, Bubele?"

Mark looked up at the mentioning of his nickname, somewhat relieved by the fact his mom addressed him and not her. Yet he didn't seem quite happy with her question. She could imagine why. "I'm… sort of… in between jobs right now, mom," he said slowly.

"This is what happens when someone picks an unsteady profession such as filming," said Mark's dad, frowning.

"Joel, please, not today," Mrs. Cohen cut him off. "It's Friday evening and we have a guest tonight," she added, beaming at her. "What do you do in New York, dearie?"

"Working, mostly. I planned to get into Broadway, but I've decided to leave it for a while and perform with my own stuff."

"Oh, you're an actress?" She had that tone again. From across the table, she could see Mark lower his head. They were so doomed. But then Mrs. Cohen's expression shifted, and gave her that radiant smile again. "If you'll ever get to meet Barbara-"

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't do Broadway, mom," Cindy laughed. "Mom is crazy about Barbara Streisand," she explained.

Mrs. Cohen looked at Cindy resentfully. "Mind you, young lady, she _was_ on Broadway during the 60s. Of course, it was before your time, but she got two Tony nominations." She looked from her daughter to her. "I've seen her in Funny Face back in 1964," she said, sounding extremely proud. Her eyes were glistening, and for a moment she reminded her of herself, on that day when she decided she'd be on those stages someday. Well, maybe Broadway wasn't so negative in Mrs. Cohen's eyes after all.

"Don't Rain on My Parade is one of my favorite Broadway songs," she said. It was true; so often did she feel that the lyrics of the song were directed straight at her.

"Oh, isn't it a great one?" Mrs. Cohen exclaimed, excited like a little girl, and started humming parts of it. She glanced at Mark. He stared at them, awe-stricken, as if he couldn't believe they actually had something in common. She flashed him a victorious smile, which he soon returned. Everything was going well, so far.

"Oh hey, how did you two meet?" Cindy asked.

It felt as if the question was aimed at her, for Mrs. Cohen stopped her singing and nodded, giving her that inquiring look again, so she started. "Well, actually we were-"

"Maureen is a waitress in that café we all hang out at," said Mark, cutting her off. She raised her head in surprise. He never did that. "This is how we met," he added kind of quickly, giving her a desperate look of 'work with me.' Her eyes widened as sudden realization hit her. They didn't know we were living together? Mark looked at her pleadingly. She shook her head, a small smile finding its way to her lips at the sight of his expression. If they wanted to hear the fairy-tale version, let them have it. At least in this one they wouldn't be hungry and frozen, and Collins wouldn't have AIDS.

She listened to Mark as he told them of the supposedly first time they met at the Life, wondering if he had it planned out before. If it wasn't, his improvisation was a brilliant one. The boy had learned a thing or two during those three months, she thought with growing satisfaction. For once, he was definitely more self-confident than when she first came to live with them. He was still a hopeless dresser, no matter how many times she tried to take him shopping, but she didn't really care because it gave him this look that was so Mark. Honestly, she could never imagine him wearing anything else rather than those corduroys and flannel and cotton. This was who he was, and at some point she realized she had no right to change that.

"Well, you make a beautiful couple, don't they, Joel?" asked Mrs. Cohen, beaming at them. Mr. Cohen nodded politely, and although he didn't say anything, a smile was clearly visible in his face. "Any plans for the future?"

"What… exactly do you mean, mom?" Mark asked slowly, sounding a bit terrified.

Mrs. Cohen gave him a conspicuous look. "You know, Bubele. You're not getting younger, any of you. It's time to think about starting a family of your own. And you've got the perfect girl right here!"

She had just sipped her glass of water when Mrs. Cohen said it, and she nearly chocked on her drink when she got the obvious implication of that. She looked up to meet Mark's eyes. He looked as horrified as she felt.

"Mom, we're only together for three months!"

"I'm just saying it's time to start thinking ahead, that's all. Don't you agree, dearie?" she turned to look at her.

"Well, I… I mean, I don't…" she stammered. She could feel herself blushing. Damn it.

"Mom, they're still young, leave them alone. I'm sure they know what's best for them," said Cindy, giving her mother a look. Thank God, it was the last word to be said on this subject.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The rest of the evening went considerably well, with Mrs. Cohen trying couple of times to go back to the issue of their marriage, and Cindy shushing her in what she probably believed to be the most discreet way. It was kind of amusing actually, after her initial shock has subsided. After dinner they went to sit in the living-room, where she got to have a look at some family albums, and hear embarrassing stories from Mark's childhood.

Then Cindy and her family left, and they stayed in the living-room for a little longer before Mr. Cohen went to bed. Then shortly after, they followed Mrs. Cohen upstairs.

"You can have Sophie's room, dearie. You saw where the kitchen was, so feel free to take whatever you want if you're hungry or something, and the bathroom is right over there. Mark, your room is all ready for you. Have a good night, you two. I'll see you in the morning."

"Night mom." Mark waited until his mom disappeared at the far end of the hall before he gave her a cute, apologetic smile. "Horrified?"

She smiled carefully. She still had to recover from the fact that they had just been put in two separate rooms. "I'm not sure yet."

"Come on," he said, leading her inside his sister's room. Soft light was streaming into the room from a streetlamp until Mark clicked on a lamp on the bedside, and she got a chance to have a better look around. The room looked pink and girly, with some stuffed animals on the king-sized bed and three shelves packed with nicely dressed porcelain dolls. The floral bedspread matched the material of the curtains, she noticed in the semi-darkness.

"I can't believe you didn't tell them we were living together," she said, sitting on the bed.

Mark gave her a terrified look. "Are you kidding? I knew better than having to face the safe sex lecture."

She laughed softly. Now after meeting his mom, she could definitely picture _that_. "So, what, they're assuming we're not sleeping together, because we're not married?"

"I rather not know what they're assuming. Believe me," he replied, sitting next to her. He took her hand. "I'm sorry about this separate rooms thing. They can be old fashioned when they want."

She figured that by now. "That's okay."

"My room is two doors to your left if you'll need anything, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled, leaning forward to kiss him. "Sweet dreams, Marky," she murmured, slowly pulling away.

He looked reluctant to leave, but eventually he got up, murmured a quick good night, and left the room.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She tossed and turned for a while, but couldn't fall asleep. She never could when she wasn't in her own bed. She had to have her stuff around to feel comfortable. She sat up with a sigh. She was really tired. It felt as if this evening with the Cohens had drained her energy completely. And besides… she wasn't used to sleep alone. For the past three months, Mark was always there. And now that he wasn't, it suddenly felt strange. Kind of empty.

_My room is two doors to your left if you'll need anything_. She knew it was an innocent statement. Mark wasn't the type for making suggestive innuendos. It's not as if she was about to barge in uninvited, because he did say that she could, and it's not that it wasn't unjustified because she _did_ need something. And she was sure he wouldn't object. Even if he would, she could be _very_ persuasive. She opened the door. The hallway was dark and deserted. She looked both sides anyway before she stepped out and sneaked into Mark's room.

He was asleep. She could tell by the sound of his breathing. Luckily, his bed looked big enough to contain both of them. She slipped under the covers. He didn't even stir. She snuggled against him and started kissing his neck, gently and persistently, slowly trailing her kisses up to his lips. He kissed her back, his eyes still closed. It was passionate and full of desire and it killed her to know they wouldn't be able to go any further than this since they were in his parents' house.

Then suddenly, Mark's eyes fluttered open. He seemed to realize what they were doing (and, more importantly, where) and he pulled away instantly. "Maureen! What are you doing here?" he hissed, glancing at his door.

She pouted. "I can't sleep."

His features softened in an instant. He became a victim of that pout too sometime along the way. "Try to count sheep. Or cows, I know you like cows better."

She hit his chest. "Mark! I'm serious! I can't sleep and it's fuckin' frustrating. So I was wondering… if I could stay here with you." Her hand was still on his chest, and she was slipping it down slowly.

Mark's response was fast; his hand was shot forward to stop her. "Don't."

She looked at him innocently. "I didn't do anything."

"Maureen, please don't do this here, it's making me nervous."

He did look nervous. She thought it was sweat she saw glistening on his forehead. She slowly pulled her hand away. "Fine, I'm sorry," she said, trying to hide her disappointment. Sure, she understood his resentment, but she really didn't feel like being alone tonight.

"Hey… don't be upset," Mark said, his voice gentle, as he reached out his hand to touch her cheek. "It's just… can you imagine their faces if they'll walk in here tomorrow morning and find you here?"

"I'll be gone before they'll have a chance to find out. I promise." She looked at him earnestly. "We don't have to do anything. Let's just go to sleep, okay?" She could tell she had him by the look on his face. She smiled and kissed his nose. "Thanks, baby."

Mark wrapped his arms around her and she closed her eyes, listening to the silence. It felt much better. Finally she could feel herself slowly slipping into slumber-

"Maureen? You're awake?"

"Hmm…" she murmured. She turned to face Mark. "What?"

"I just… wanted to tell you something."

"Baby, it's 3AM, can't it wait for tomorrow morning?"

"Not really, no."

She sighed. "Okay, I'm listening, tell me."

"Well, I… we've been together for three months now and I just… I mean…"

"Mark, if this is a marriage proposal, I swear I'm gonna kill you." She meant it. She had enough of _that_ at dinner, that's for sure.

Mark laughed, which made her feel relieved because it meant that this wasn't on his mind. "That's not what I was about to say."

"What is it then?"

"It's… kind of hard for me to say it."

"Well, do your best, baby, because it's getting late and I'm really ti-"

"I love you."

She froze mid-sentence, and stared at him in amazement. Now _that_ she wasn't expecting. "W-what?"

Now he looked frustrated. "Did you _really_ miss it the first time, or do you just wanna hear it again?"

She laughed. "I'm not sure you said what I think you just said. So yeah, I kind of want to hear it again."

"I love you," he repeated, looking straight at her. It had that same jaw-dropping affect it had the first time.

"Mark… I don't know what to say," she laughed nervously. He was the first guy who told her that and really meant it, it suddenly dawned on her. And it caught her completely off-guard. Now she was slightly panicked. If she had trouble to fall asleep before, now she doubted if she'd be able to sleep at all. Did she love him too? How was she supposed to know?

"You don't have to say anything."

And then, suddenly, she knew what her reply should be. It felt as if she knew it all along. "No, I think I should say something," she replied softly, propping herself on one elbow so she'd be able to look down at him. "I love you too."

He looked as if he wasn't expecting this, but once the initial shock has passed, a wide grin curled on his lips, lightening his face. "Now _I_ don't know what to say."

She smiled. "You don't have to say anything," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

**A/N- well, I hope you enjoyed it, guys. Just a small comment, this _Bubele_ thingie is a pet-name in Yiddish which means Darling or Precious (literally it means 'little doll'). I'm sure some of you who are Jewish know it from your grandparents, but I still have doubts about the spelling because I had no idea where to look it up, so I apologize if I misspelled it. It just sounded like something Mark's mom would call him, so I used it. Waiting anxiously for your reviews, as always…**


	10. I Know the Truth

**9- I Know the Truth**

August hit New York full force that year. The heat and humidity were getting unbearable, and the ancient air-conditioner at the loft broke every other day, as they could never afford to fix it properly. She found herself spending most of her time at work. At least it was nice and cool at the Life. Benny was still the 'invisible roommate' as Collins used to call him, showing up mostly for leaving his share of the rent, or packing a new bag of clean clothes. He was practically living with this girl now, this Allison Gray, at her parents' estate at Westport. Collins was doing pretty well, at least under the circumstances. He was about to go back to MIT on September, and they were spending some needed quality time until then. Roger was getting more and more distant, which scared her just as much as it worried her, for he was hardly himself anymore. He still had his Roger-moments, in which he was the cute jerk he has always been, but those turned more rare as he became extremely short-tempered, and used to snap at them on the smallest things.

She spent most of her time with Mark. Sometimes she felt very guilty, because she felt like she wasn't giving Collins her fullest attention, but when she told that to Collins, he smiled and said that he was so happy that the two of them were still together, that he didn't care at all. They had one arrangement that worked fine. Since Mark hated crowded bars, or dancing, or cigarette smoke, whenever she felt like dancing or getting drunk, she took Collins along for bar-hopping. Mark didn't care to be left behind. On the contrary, he seemed kind of relieved that they didn't drag him along with them. When it came to keeping away drunken jerks that tried to hit on her in those bars, Collins turned out to be extremely useful, pretending to be her boyfriend.

She made some progress in promoting herself as a performer. The Life Café started to lead Open Mic nights, and she always took part in those, as it gave her a chance to share her own material with a live audience and get immediate feedback on her stuff. Mark was her production manager, since she was completely clueless when it got to sound equipment and cables and shit, while he knew a lot. A friend of Steven's who played an acoustic guitar played for her as she sang, and she made herself quite a name among the Village inhabitants. She was gaining so much recognition, that it got to a point where people showed up to those Open Mic nights specifically to listen to her. Mark used to joke about how soon she'd be so popular, that she'd have to extend her performance space to the deserted lot that was not too far from their building, since the Life was getting too packed to contain all her fans.

They crossed the park together, holding hands and talking nonsense mostly. Mark never quit his old habit of walking her to work, or from work if he didn't have to work. Today he was in sort of a hurry, because he had to be someplace at the other side of town, but he still went with her. She knew he would. She smiled. Things couldn't get any better between the two of them. It never ceased to amaze her, to think that they were together for so much time. For her, five months were a world record. And to be honest, she never believed they would last more than couple of months. But somehow, that night at Scarsdale got them even closer together.

"You okay?"

She looked up. Mark was watching her, a worried expression clouding his blue eyes. She smiled. "I'm fine." They walked in silence for a little while. "Hey, did you talk to Cindy? Wasn't she supposed to have that baby already?"

"I think she still has another week or two. Do you really think that my mom would have let such a thing to go by unnoticed?"

She laughed. Definitely not. "It's gonna be a boy, right?"

"Yeah. You know what that means," he half said, half asked, frowning.

She was almost afraid to ask. "What?"

"We'll probably have to show up for the Bris."

She went pale, looking at him wide-eyed. "You mean this thing where they cut the baby's-"

"Ah-huh."

Okay, _now_ she was afraid. "Mark, you can't make me go there," she pleaded. She felt weakness in her knees just from thinking about it. "I'll pass out, or throw up, possibly both of them together."

He laughed. "You don't have to watch."

"Then why going at all?"

"Because I'm expected to be there, it's my nephew." He took her hand. "Besides, my mom will kill me if I won't bring you over to meet the rest of the family."

An involuntary shiver went through her. The weakness in her knees worsened. More Cohens. "Why do I have to meet everyone?" she pouted. He gave her a look. She sighed, knowing how lame it sounded. "Pookie, I love you. By that I mean _you_, not the rest of your family. Just you. So why do I have to-"

She stopped mid-sentence, and stared. Something behind Mark caught her attention. There he was again, that local drug dealer. He was mysterious-looking; tall, dark-haired, always in a black leather jacket, even in the summer. He always looked at her when she passed by, just looked, without saying anything. There was something in this see-through look that scared her a little, so she avoided walking in that path when she was alone. And yet, he wasn't the one who drew her attention at the moment, but the guy who has just paid him. He looked incredibly familiar. She inched closer to have a better look. She could have sworn he looked just like…

As if feeling he was being watched, he looked up. Their eyes met. His looked scared, probably for being caught in the act. She knew hers were shocked, furious, disappointed, betrayed. So this was the truth. This was what he was doing while being locked up in his room. How long was it going on? How could they be so blind?

"Maureen?" Mark asked, touching her arm slightly, snapping her back to reality.

Panic crept in, making her dizzy. There was no way she'd let him see that. She couldn't expose him to this. She wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that; he was still devastated because of Collins, and he found that out months ago. She had to act, and fast. So she did the first thing that came to mind.

She grabbed the front of his T shirt and pulled him towards her. He let out a surprised protest that sounded like "Mubph" as she pressed her lips forcefully against his in a passionate kiss. He tried to pull away at first, but she didn't let him, delving deeper into the kiss, slowly wrapping her arms around his neck. She opened one eye to glance over his shoulder again. Roger was no longer there. Relieved that her plan worked, she pulled away slowly, gently sucking on his lower lip.

"What was that for?" Mark asked breathlessly, his cheeks turning pink, his glasses askew.

"Just… cause I felt like it," she forced a smile, although she felt like screaming. Her mind was racing. Now what? She couldn't hide it forever. He'd find out sooner or later. She didn't want to think about what would happen when he would.

"Does that mean you'll come with me when the baby is born?"

"Yeah, sure, I will," she answered, her mind elsewhere. She didn't really think about what she had just gotten herself into. She just wanted to be alone. She had to figure out what she was going to do. "Look, baby, I gotta run. I'll see you later, okay?"

"What?" Mark asked, confused.

"Yeah, I just remembered I promised Roxanne I'll get there earlier so she can leave early." She stood on tiptoes and kissed his nose. He looked so damn naïve that it killed her. She didn't even want to imagine what it would have done to him if he turned to see what she did. She caressed his cheek. "I'll see you at home," she promised.

She heard him calling her name as she ran off, but didn't stop to look back.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She was nervous, distracted and completely out of focus. She knew she must get a grip, or she'd be kicked out in a snap. The Life's new owner didn't like her very much as it was, but she was a good worker and the costumers loved her, so he didn't have a reason to fire her. Nonetheless, she knew that he was waiting for the fortunate moment to do so. And she didn't mean to give it to him.

She leaned against the kitchen door and closed her eyes, forcing herself to take deep breaths and calm down. She opened her eyes couple of seconds later to see Steven staring at her. "What?" she snapped at him.

"Whoa, chill, Johnson," he said, stepping back jokingly.

"What do you want, Steven?"

"Are you okay?"

Do I _look_ okay? "I'm fine."

"Yeah, I can see that," he said sarcastically. "What, you're having troubles with your cute little boyfriend?"

She wished this was all it was. "Nothing like that. I don't wanna talk about it right now, okay?"

Steven looked slightly offended, but the truth was that right now, she really didn't care. "Fine. Someone's looking for you at the bar."

"Who?"

"One of your roommates, I think."

That was faster than she thought. She sighed. "Thanks, Steven."

A bit reluctant, but at the same time knowing she'd better get rid of it now, she stepped out. Just as she suspected, it was Roger who raised his head when she approached him. He still had that scared expression. He looked so pathetic. "What do you want?"

"I wanna talk to you," he said, in a gentle tone she hadn't herd from him in weeks.

"I don't feel like talking to you right now, Roger, I'm sorry." She was so pissed at him right now that she felt like she wasn't responsible for her actions if he'd managed to piss her off even more.

He touched her arm. "Maureen, please." He looked at her persistently. "I want to explain."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You'd better explain," she said coldly.

"Not here." He took her hand. She hated herself for not having the heart to pull it away. "Let's go outside?"

She should have screamed at him to get lost, that he caused them enough troubles already, that the last thing she wanted to hear was lame answers and empty excuses. But she didn't. She turned and walked over to the back door, not even bothering to check if he followed her.

Outside, the heat seemed to cease a little as the sun was slowly setting. Roger took a seat on some wood boxes, but quickly he got up and started pacing nervously back and forth. She just stood there, her back against the café's brick wall, her hands crossed in front of her. "Well, speak, I don't have all day," she said. She didn't care if she sounded blunt and bitchy. It wasn't she who had to give explanations. It was her time being wasted.

This seemed to snap him out of it, for he stopped pacing and walked over to her. Then he gave her that same pleading look as he did before. "What you've seen in the park-"

"I know what I saw, Roger-" she cut him off sternly. He wouldn't fool her with this soft tone and puppy-like expression. She never fell for those.

"I know you're mad, but if you just-"

"Mad? _Mad_? I'm not just mad, Roger, I'm fuckin' furious!" she cut him off again, feeling like she could kill him if she would have given the means to. "How could you do this? Why? And what the fuck are you gonna tell Collins? And Mark? Have they ever crossed your mind whenever you were shooting up?" She stopped to catch her breath, and looked at him, feeling slightly calmer. "Just tell me why. I think I deserve that much."

"It helps me. It gives me something nothing else does. I don't even know how to explain this to you in a way that will make sense. It sounds so lame when I try."

"Lame. Just the word I was looking for," she said coldly. No one ever let her down the same way he just did. "Come on, Roger, I thought you were stronger than this," she said, her voice softening in spite of herself.

"I can stop if I want to."

"That's the most pathetic cliché in the book and you fuckin' know it!" She felt like slapping him, do anything else to shake him out of the fantasy world he obviously lived in. How could he be so dense? "What about April? Are you doing this together? Is this your new definition for a romantic evening, stay home and get high? I bet sex is really mind-blowing when you're high, huh?" Her voice was dripping with malice and sarcasm. She could care less. Then something occurred to her, and gave him an appalled look. She'd better be wrong about this, although she knew she wasn't. Her instincts never let her down. "Was it her? Was she the one dragging you into this?"

"I have a mind of my own."

"Do you? It doesn't look like it! You were fine before you started seeing her!"

"Hey, leave her out of this!"

There was something in the way he said it that told her that she was right. It _was_ April who started it. She sighed. It really wasn't the time for looking for whom to blame. It was time to get practical. "Did you think of a way to break this to Collins and Mark?" Roger lowered his head. Just as she thought. He never intended to tell them, as he probably never intended to get caught. Well, she wouldn't let him to get away with this. "You'd better think of something, and you'd better do it soon, before I'll tell them myself. And trust me, if I'll tell them myself it's gonna be worse." And with that, she turned her back on him and was about to go back into the café.

"Maureen-"

"I don't have anything else to say to you, Roger," she said. She didn't even bother to look at him.

"I'm… I'm sorry you had to find out that way."

She shook her head. For a slight second, she felt sorry for him. "I'm sorry I had to find out at all."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The following week was a torture. She was determined to let Roger be the one to tell Mark and Collins the truth. It killed her to keep this away from Mark, so she found herself avoiding him so she wouldn't let it slip by mistake. Looking into his eyes became so difficult. And Mark obviously wasn't stupid. The change in her behavior was so drastic, that he immediately sensed something was going on. Whenever he tried to ask her what was wrong, she always managed to distract him one way or another, but it was getting so much harder, that by the end of the weekend, she was a wreck. She was cranky and nervous; she snapped at everyone in her closest radius, and took up smoking again, after a considerable time in which she did her best avoiding it completely.

This was what she was doing at the moment; sitting out on the fire escape, smoking her cigarette, and staring at the buildings across the street. Just as she avoided Mark, Roger was trying to avoid her. She planned to talk to him again and force him into telling Mark and Collins, but she never managed to do that because they were never alone. When they bumped into one another in the hall he would always turn back to his room. Now that she knew April was responsible to this, she shot her nasty glares whenever she was around. She sighed, blowing the cigarette smoke away. She pulled her hair back with the back of her hand, and noticed that it was shaking. This couldn't go on like this.

She raised her head at the sound of opening door. Mark stepped into the loft carrying his bike. He leaned it against the wall and went over to the coffee table to put his bag there. As he looked out, he suddenly seemed to notice her. She smiled weakly and gave him a small wave, taking one last drag of her cigarette before getting rid of it.

He walked over to the window and stuck his head out. "Come in, I wanna talk to you," he said. His face remained expressionless. Not a smile, not hi, nothing.

She shrugged. It's not like _she_ wasn't acting weird for the past week. She stood up and climbed back into the loft through the window. "About?"

"I think you know about what, Maureen." His tone was serious, his eyes unusually distant. "I wanna know what's going on."

Oh-uh. She knew it would come. She just hoped she'd have more time to prepare. Apparently, she hadn't. She looked at him innocently, indifferently. Better try plan A first to buy her some time. "What makes you think something is going on?"

"Damn it, Maureen!" he yelled. She stared at him, completely taken-aback. Mark never yelled. _Ever_. "I'm sick and tired of this! I let you get away with this because I was hoping you'd eventually tell me, but this had gone too far. Now I want some answers." Naïve, unconfident Mark vanished without a trace. This Mark was towering over her, furious and intimidating. She was truly scared. She knew he was pissed. She would have been too if someone would have done to her what she did to him during that week. But she was only trying to protect him. Was that so wrong?

Before she managed to say anything, he spoke again. "If you want to break up, just say so. But don't leave me hanging like this, Maureen, because it's fuckin' worse."

Break up? How the hell did he get to _that_? "I don't want to break up," she said quietly.

"Then what's wrong? Is it something I did?"

That sounded more like him. Always believed he was the one to blame. "Mark, no, you didn't…" she sighed. She couldn't lock it in anymore. It was killing her. She had to let it out. Maybe she should have been the one to tell him after all. Maybe she'd be able to soften things a bit. "Yes, there's something I'm not telling you. But it's only because I don't wanna hurt you."

"You're seeing someone else, aren't you?" he asked, looking completely heart-broken all of a sudden.

Great. Now he thought she was cheating on him? Could things get any worse? She approached him and caressed his cheek. "I'm not seeing anyone else."

"What is it then?" he asked, his tone now softer. He didn't want to pull away from her touch.

"I don't wanna do this here. Let's go someplace for dinner so we can talk about this, okay?"

He looked at her indifferently. "Fine. Whatever."

"Can you get my purse while I'm changing?" she asked, halfway down the hall. She changed quickly and slipped into her shoes. She left the bedroom, heart racing. Here goes.

Mark was standing near their coat-rack by the door, looking at if he saw a ghost. The color drained from his face, and his expression was somewhat shocked. He had her purse hung on one shoulder, but he wasn't trying to give it to her. He didn't do anything, just stood there.

"Thanks. Ready to go?" she asked lightly, telling herself it was nothing. She was beginning to see things, that's all. She reached out an arm to take her purse. Mark shoved her off. It was so sudden that she nearly fell back. She stared at him, more with shock than with anger. Oh, he didn't. "What the fuck?"

"Do you think I'm that stupid? Did you really think I wouldn't find out?" he said coldly. His look gave her chills.

"What are you talking about?" She left him alone for no more than five minutes!

"Looks familiar?" he asked nastily, holding out a small bag full with white powder. He nearly shoved it in her face.

Oh shit. She glanced at the coat-rack, and saw Roger's jacket hung on top of everything else there. It must have slipped out of its pocket when Mark reached for her purse. She looked back at him. He was watching her expectantly, obviously waiting for an explanation. "Mark, wait, you're jumping into wrong conclusions, I don't-"

"Don't give me this shit, Maureen, I told you I was sick of it!" He paused, as if to regain his composure. Then he gave her an accusing look. "How long, Maureen?"

She just stood there, staring at him speechless. Did he really believe it was hers? "How long _what_? I'm telling you, it's _not_ mine!"

"Don't fuckin' lie to me, Maureen!" She winced. He was yelling again. "I think I deserve better than that!"

She couldn't believe this was happening. First he thought she was cheating on him, and now actually dared to accuse her in using drugs. Didn't she prove herself by now? If he really loved her, like he bothered to tell her over and over again, wasn't he supposed to know her by now? "Mark, I'm not lying. This is not mine," she said slowly. She was starting to feel really frustrated. "I mean come on. Did you actually _see_ it falling off my purse?"

"I didn't have to," he said coldly, looking at her as if she was stupid. "Because everything else hung here is coats and jackets, and in case you forgot, no-one wears a jacket in the middle of August."

"Unless there are needle marks on his arm that he wants to hide."

He looked up. He obviously wasn't expecting such a backfire. "What exactly are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm just trying to make you understand you're screaming at the wrong person."

"If it's not yours, whose is it?"

It felt as if she lost his trust completely. There was so much scorn in the way he was looking at her, he almost didn't look like himself. This was wrong. So wrong and so fuckin' unfair. Thanks a lot, Roger, she thought bitterly. "It's Roger's," she said quietly, looking straight into his eyes. "Are you happy now? Do you feel better now that the great truth was revealed?" her voice was shaking now as tears stung in the corners of her eyes, choking her, making speech extremely difficult. It didn't have to be like that. This was not how he was supposed to find out. But she didn't care anymore. She wanted to hurt him, just as much as he hurt her. She wanted him to feel what she was feeling.

Mark stared at her with complete astonishment, as if he needed a moment to take this in. Then his expression shifted. He looked disgusted. "I've never thought you'd go so low," he said coldly.

She stood there jaw-dropped, completely shocked by his malicious tone. He was _way_ out of line. "_Excuse me_?"

"Roger would never do such a thing and you know it."

"Oh, and I would?"

"Apparently, you're not who I believed you were."

She shot him a nasty glare. She didn't mean to defend herself. He was so determined, so sure he was right, she knew she would be probably wasting her time. If this was what he wanted to believe in, let him have it. "You'll regret that when you'll know the truth."

"I know the truth, Maureen," he said sadly, throwing the stash at her. She didn't bother to catch it. She didn't want anything to do with it. It fell to the floor noiselessly. "Too bad I learned it a little too late." And with that he turned his back on her and left the loft.

His words were left hung in the heavy silence as she watched the closed door, silent tears streaming down her face.


	11. Always

**A/N- just wanted to wish all my Jewish readers out there a happy new year! The rest of you, have a wonderful weekend. I hope you all like the story so far. Please drop me a review so I'll know that you do!**

**10- Always**

"I bet someone is responsible for that look on your face."

She raised her head. She didn't know someone else was home so early. She left work earlier, mostly because she couldn't do anything right, and now she just sat out on the fire escape. She did that a lot lately. It was the only cool place at the loft. You could actually catch some breeze every now and again, if you tried really hard. It's been more than a week since her fight with Mark. They were hardly speaking. She knew he was avoiding being around her; he stayed in the living-room hours after they all went to bed, saying he had to work, but once when she managed to steal a glance at him, she saw him just sitting there, staring emptily at his screenplays. When he came to bed, it was only when he thought she was asleep. He never realized that she couldn't sleep. She was always awake when he crawled into bed at some point of the night, staying as far away from her as he could. She was surprised he didn't stay on the couch, or in his old room.

Collins was standing in the window, watching her. His expression was serious and concerned. She snorted at his remark. "No shit, Sherlock," she replied bitterly, lightening a second cigarette. She told herself she was doing it because Mark hated it so much.

Collins climbed out of the window to join her. He found a seat across from her, leaning back on the metal bars. Silently, she lit him a cigarette and handed it to him. He took it, eyebrow raised. "Smoking? Yeah, just like I suspected. Something is wrong."

"Suspected? I know you, Collins, you probably _know_ what's wrong." He just got back home three days ago, but nothing escaped him.

Collins tried not to look guilty. Then he looked at her seriously. "I'm hearing that you had a fight," he half said, half asked, as if he needed her authorization for the rumors. "A nasty one, according to my sources."

So he was talking to Mark. "Did your 'source' tell you what it was about?"

"He did." There was a short pause. They were just looking at one another. "I don't believe him, if for a moment you thought I did."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Maureen, I said I didn't believe him. That doesn't mean I don't think we should go deeper into this issue."

What was wrong with everyone? "There's no issue! It was a misunderstanding!"

"So can you explain the fact that Mark found a stash in your purse?"

"It wasn't _in_ my purse, Collins, because it's not mine. And when I tried to tell Mark whose was it, he freaked out and called me a liar. So screw him, I'm sick of this." He'd better not take Mark's side. He was the last person she has left to trust in.

"How did you know it was Roger's?"

Her head shot up. She didn't think Mark would tell him that part, too. She sighed. Collins looked as if he was ready to listen to what she had to say. "I saw Roger in the park couple of weeks ago. He was paying this guy. You know, The Man." This was how they all called the drug-dealer in black. "I didn't want Mark to see that so I didn't say anything. And I made Roger promise he'd tell you guys himself, but he obviously didn't, and now Mark thinks I'm-"

Before she knew it, Collins was on her side. This was when she realized she was crying. She dropped what's left from her cigarette and buried her head in his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug as she cried, running a hand through her hair. "Shh… it's okay, sweetie… I'm here. Come on, you know I'm not very good with damsels in distress."

She laughed in spite of her tears. She actually felt a little better. She kept it inside for so long, it felt so good to let it out. Sort of purifying.

Collins touched her cheek, making her face him. "I'll talk to Roger, and after I'll do that he'll talk to Mark whether he likes it or not. Then when everyone knows everything, we're gonna all sit and talk about this, and see how we solve it."

"Who says we can?"

"We must, we can't let Roger go down like that!"

"If he'll even listen."

"Oh, he will. Don't doubt that. He wouldn't have much choice." He smiled at her. "Now come on. Go inside and clean up, then put on one of your sexy little dresses and I'll take you out dancing. I'll even let you pretend I'm your boyfriend, if you want to."

She couldn't help but smile. He was so… well, Collins. "I don't really feel like dancing today, Collins."

"Hey, stop worrying because of Roger. Everything is gonna be fine."

"It's not because of Roger," she replied quietly, avoiding eye-contact.

"What is it then?" he asked, but looked as if he knew the answer. Well, he must have, for he was smiling like an idiot. "Don't tell me the filmmaker left you heart-broken."

"No, he _didn't_!" she protested, looking away. He _didn't_, she told herself. She wasn't heart-broken; she was just… upset.

Collins didn't seem to buy that. He was smiling even wider now. "You finally let someone in, haven't you? You finally like someone!"

She shook her head, blushing. He was so childish. "Collins, stop it!"

"Maureen likes a guy, Maureen likes a guy," he said in an annoying, singsongy, high-pitched tone that made her want to punch him.

The one thing he didn't know was that she and Mark were way beyond the 'like' already.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

As if things weren't bad enough, Cindy gave birth couple of days afterwards. Mark was hardly around, as he spent most of his time at the hospital with his sister, or at her house watching Abigail, so that his mom and Nathan could be with Cindy. On the one hand it was a relief because things felt less awkward when he wasn't around. On the other hand, Collins couldn't talk to him about the Roger thing, because he was constantly distracted with the new baby. And to make things worse, she know they all expected them to show up to the Bris together as if nothing happened. She couldn't have been less in the mood for that, and she knew that Mark was less than thrilled to take her with him as things were, but they didn't have much choice. So they dressed up and headed for the hotel uptown, where a family luncheon was about to take place.

Mrs. Cohen welcomed them with radiant smiles, kisses and a crushing hug for each of them. She didn't seem to notice their forced smiles, or the fact that they were not speaking to one another. Then they went over to see Cindy and the baby. Named after both his grandfathers, the baby was a tiny little thing, curled in a blanket on his mother's lap. He was sleeping peacefully as she leaned to look at him. Poor thing, she thought. Cindy, who looked pale and somewhat scared herself, did her best to smile and thank her for coming.

Once the traditional ceremony was over, Mark murmured that he'd be back in a moment, leaving her there with a bunch of people she never met before. 'A moment' soon became more like 15 minutes in which she just stood there, watching everyone, avoiding those she was already introduced to. Great. Her eyes wandered around the room, looking for the closest way out. As she did that, she suddenly spotted the bar and walked over there, downing two glasses of champagne one after another.

"Tough afternoon?" said a kind, female voice behind her. She turned to meet the smile of a stranger. She looked her age, and she was wearing a light mint-green dress that complimented her figure and complexion. She had a kind smile. She looked at her curiously. "I've never seen you around, are you one of Nathan's cousins?"

For a second she forgot who Nathan was, but then she shook her head as she remembered. "Oh, no, I'm just… the baby is my boyfriend's nephew."

It took the woman a moment, but then she shook her head in what looked like surprise. "_You're_ Mark's girlfriend?"

"You know Mark?" She realized how stupid her question was only after she asked it. _Of course_ she knew Mark; it was a _family_ lunch, she was probably Mark's cousin or something.

The woman laughed. "I should. He's my brother."

_That_ was Sophie? She would never have guessed it. Cindy and Mark definitely looked like brother and sister. Sophie, on the other hand, looked more like a distant cousin of them with her darker complexion. She was petite whereas both Cindy and Mark were rather tall. She wasn't wearing glasses, either.

Sophie seemed to notice her wonderment. She laughed. "I know. Cindy and Mark used to say I was adopted when we were kids, just to annoy my mom. It's nice to meet you, by the way, I'm Sophie," she reached out her hand.

"Maureen. And it's nice to meet you too."

Sophie gave her a closer look. She shook her head and smiled. "I must say, you look completely different than what I had in mind."

She smiled in spite of herself. "People keep saying this." In first appearance, they never passed as a couple in people's eyes. They were just too unlikely to be hooked up together. But that was the beauty of them, Collins once told her.

"Where _is_ Mark, though? I must have missed him, I got here so late, there was a huge mess-up with the trains… but you probably don't wanna hear about it." She was speaking so fast, it was difficult to keep up with her. She seemed to be different than Mark in personality as well. She was definitely more open and talkative with people she didn't know. "Don't tell me he just left you here." She shrugged. It seemed to be exactly what he did. Sophie gave her a know-all smile. "No wonder you ran for the alcohol then. I probably would have done the same. But what can we do, right? We can't choose our family."

"That's true."

"I love your dress, by the way. This is actually why I thought I'd come over and introduce myself, so you might tell me where I can get one."

"Oh," she looked down at her dress; another painful decision she had to make for meeting the Cohens. Just like the skirt she chose to wear on the first night she met them, this dress too was knee-length, in a light shade of lavender she thought was the most incredible color when she bought the dress at 18. "Well, I got it quite some time ago so I don't really remember. I don't like dresses so much." Unless they were those sexy little ones as Collins called them. "But if you like it I can send it to you with Mark sometime. I hardly ever wear it."

"Nah, I'm too short for a dress like that."

"I love the color of _your_ dress, if it makes you feel any better," she smiled. She started to like this girl. She was kind of like her in a way; in a very strange way, because in many other aspects, she was extremely different.

"I didn't dare wearing anything shorter, or I would have given my mom a heart attack. I almost did, once."

"Hey Sophie!" They both turned at the sound that cut off their conversation so abruptly. It was a girl their age who waved eagerly in Sophie's direction, a sweet smile on her face. Too sweet to be real, she noticed.

"Hi Nanette," Sophie replied dryly.

Nanette, what kind of a name was that, she wondered as the girl moved closer. Sophie didn't look so pleased. "Oh, no."

"What? Who is she?"

"Nanette Himmelfarb. She's the Rabbi's daughter. When she and Mark were 13 he was partnered with her in Tango lessons because our mom wanted him to dance at his Bar Mitzvah. She has a _huge_ crush on him ever since. Thank God, my brother knows better. _And_ has better taste, I'm happy to find out."

She observed the girl with the funny name as she approached them. She wasn't bad looking, not at all. She was a true redhead, not a fake one like April; her hair was carrot-red. Her teeth were very straight and very white, as if she spent years wearing braces (which was probably the case). And yet there was something extremely artificial about her; probably all these makeup layers and extra mascara that made her face look like a mask.

"You know this thing they say about us, Jewish girls? This nonsense about the Jewish Princess and all that? It's girls like her who are responsible for it," Sophie said lowly a second before Nanette reached them.

"Sophie! You meanny, you never return my calls!"

"I'm hardly home to _get_ your calls, Nanette," replied Sophie, rolling her eyes. "I'm in college, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, you were always the smart one." Her smile widened. "Like your brother! I haven't seen him around by the way, where is he?" she asked, failing in sounding indifferent.

From above Nanette's head, Sophie gave her a look. "He's… around, I guess. But speaking of Mark, this is Maureen, she's his _girlfriend_."

Nanette's head shot in her direction. Her eyes narrowed. "Oh. Hello."

"Hi." She didn't like that look this Nanette gave her. It was as if she wondered what Mark found in her in the first place.

"I didn't know Mark was seeing anyone," said Nanette, looking at Sophie, as if trying to ignore her existence.

"Surprise!" said Sophie, her smile as sweet as Nanette's. "How long are you two together, Maureen?"

"Almost six months now," she said. Could it be so long? Wow. Suddenly she felt really proud of herself.

This didn't seem to be the answer Nanette was hoping for. "Oh. How… nice. And what do you do in New York?"

"I'm a song writer. I sing my own stuff for now, but I'm planning to try out Broadway, when the time comes."

"Broadway. Neat. Did my mom tell you her 'I've seen Barbara on Broadway' story?" asked Sophie, winking. It was obvious who she preferred as her brother's girl.

"Yeah, she did."

"You met his parents already?" Nanette asked wide-eyed.

"Couple of months ago."

"And that's all my mom talks about ever since," Sophie interjected. Nanette shot her a look, obviously not satisfied. She seemed to expect some support from her childhood friend. But then her nasty expression softened at once as she noticed something behind Sophie's shoulder. Mark was approaching them. Sophie saw him too and waved at him. He paused halfway there, probably as he saw Nanette, but then he started moving again, as if realizing he had no where to escape.

Sophie smiled. "There he is, my lost brother!"

"Hi Mark," Nanette said, giggling like a 13-year-old.

Mark ignored her. He wrapped his arms around his sister in a huge hug and then slowly let go. He looked at her hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Officially, they were there as a happy, perfect couple. Unofficially, things were way more complicated, and definitely less than perfect. For a moment, she also wondered how she was supposed to act, how _he_ expected her to act, in light of everything that happened. Well, this Nanette kind of annoyed her with all this false sweetness, and her obvious interest in Mark, so she did what every other normal girlfriend would have done. She wrapped her arms around Mark's neck and flashed him a sweet smile of her own.

"Hi baby, where have you been?" she asked, pouting.

He seemed as if he wasn't expecting her to do that, but at the same time he looked as if he understood why she did. Luckily, he decided to cooperate. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head. "Yeah, I was… Nathan asked me to…" his voice trailed off.

It could be a good time to make him pay for suspecting her, yelling at her and then ditching her there all by herself. She gave him her best lost-puppy look. "Well, at least you're here now, _Pookie_." It worked. He instantly blushed.

"Aww, that's so sweet," cooed Sophie, giving Nanette a victorious look.

"So how's life in the big city, Marky?"

"Okay, I guess," he said, extremely distracted because her arms were still wrapped around his neck, her fingers slowly caressing his skin.

The music in the small ballroom resumed. "Oh, I love this song!" Nanette exclaimed. "Come on, Marky, let's dance!"

Mark looked horrified. "What? No, I really rather not to-"

"You _should_ dance with her, Pookie," she said, with an evil smile that was meant only for him. "You know, for old times' sake. I promise I won't be jealous," she added and pinched his cheek.

"I really rather dance with _you_, Maureen," he said through clenched teeth. She knew that under the circumstances, he considered it as bad a thing as dancing with Nanette.

She shook her head, wearing her most sorrowful expression. "Oh, I'd love to, baby, but you know my ankle still bugs me every now and again, so I'd better not. Besides, your sister and me were in the middle of something here," she said, looking nastily at Nanette. "Come on. I hear you two were pretty good doing the Tango as kids."

Mark shot his sister a glare, but then when he seemed to realize he didn't have much choice, he sighed and led Nanette to the dance floor.

She and Sophie watched them for a while as they moved sort of clumsily to the sounds of music. Mark was a horrible dancer. She came to know that the first (and last) time she and Collins dragged him to a club downtown. He had that tortured expression now, almost as if he was in pain. It made her smile. At least she got some sort of revenge.

"You know," said Sophie suddenly. She turned to look at her. "You _are_ sweet together. I mean when I first found out who you were…" she laughed. "I guess I didn't realize how well you two fit together before I could see it myself. And I can't tell you how happy I am, to know that my brother does know better than going out with… that," she said, disgusted, nodding towards Nanette, who was manipulating Mark through the other dancers.

She smiled sadly but said nothing. She couldn't shake away the pressing thought that no matter how clumsy he was up there, it should have been her with him on that dance floor.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She finished her shift later than she intended. The café was packed and one of the waitresses came in late. She stayed. It's not like she had big plans for tonight. She knew Collins would be exhausted when he'd be back home because he stopped by earlier to tell her he was on his way to the library for some research. He had a lot of work to do before the new semester, only couple of days away now. God knew where Roger and April were, and if Mark would be home when she was back, he'd probably ignore her again. So she stayed and kept Steven company until it was time to go.

She bumped into the person who walked it. A curse escaped her lips before she managed to hold it back. She raised her head, ready to murmur a quick apology and head home, but then she realized who it was and she froze.

"Mark," she whispered, about to walk passed him and head home.

He gently grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Wait." His expression was urgent, pleading. She gave him a questioning look. He smiled sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. "I thought I'd miss you so I ran all the way down here… and now I almost did."

He actually smiled at her. And was she hearing right? He came for her? That didn't make much sense. But she didn't say anything, just stood there and watched him, waiting to hear what he had to say. Just then a noisy group entered the café, and they had to step away for they were blocking the entrance. She followed Mark's lead and they went outside. They walked in silence for a while, and when they were at a considerable distance from the café, he stopped and looked at her.

"Roger told me everything," he said quietly. "I… I'm not sure what to say."

"You can start with 'I'm sorry'," she replied coldly. She wouldn't let him get away with it so easily, oh no. Not after everything he said and done. That heart-melting look and couple of kind words wouldn't fool her. He'd have to sweat.

"It doesn't seem good enough."

"You're right. It's not good enough. But it's a start."

He took her hands in his. She didn't try to pull them away. He looked deeply into her eyes. "I was a jerk. I should have known you had a reason for blaming Roger. I shouldn't have yelled at you the way I did, I shouldn't have said all those things to you."

"But you did. And what's worse, you meant it."

"I did. I completely lost it that day, and I'm sorry. I can't even start telling you how sorry I am." He stopped and took a breath. "Maureen, I know nothing I'll say now will make up for everything that happened, but I love you. In spite of everything I said, I love you, and nothing's gonna change it. Please forgive me."

He looked as if he was ready to go down on his knees for it. Silly Mark. How could she not forgive him when he gave her that look? And still, as she had some dignity left, she decided she wouldn't give in to him so quickly. Let him sweat a bit more. "What about that day you ditched me among all those people from your family I didn't know?"

"Well, I actually hoped we had that covered when you made me dance with Nanette."

"Do you really think that made us even?"

He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I… don't know. I hope." She gave him a look. "I… guess I should apologize for that, too."

"That would be nice," she said, her tone far from nice.

"I'm sorry I ditched you at my sister's party and left you with all those people you didn't know." He looked at her pleadingly, as if hoping for her forgiveness after all that.

She was quiet for a while, and eventually decided to play along. She fought to keep her face expressionless and indifferent. "You'll have to try harder than this."

He grinned, as if he seemed to realize she was faking it by now. "I thought so," he said, reaching for his pocket. "This is why I want you to have this." He put something in her hands. She looked down. It was a ring. In the soft light from a nearby streetlamp, it looked like silver. It had an engraving in the center of it, she noticed, of a small flower. "I wanted to keep it for our six months in a couple of weeks, but under the circumstances…" his voice trailed off. He looked at her hesitantly.

"You thought you could buy my forgiveness with jewelries?" she asked, trying to prevent her voice from quivering. She wasn't expecting this. Her heart was racing as she let her fingers play with the ring in her palm. She didn't dare to put it on yet. Not until they'd have everything between them settled.

Her question seemed to catch him off-guard. He went pale. "Uh, no, of course not… I wasn't… I mean I didn't realize-"

She smiled at his stammered attempts to save himself, and inched closer. "I forgive you," she whispered, her lips near his ear. She raised her eyes to meet his. "I just hope you won't forget what you said… so you'd never think about saying it again."

"I think I know better by now," he replied, smiling carefully.

"You better." A bit hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, still holding the ring in one hand. He held her close, and his sigh of relief didn't escape her. "I'm sorry about Roger," she whispered. She could only imagine what he was going through now, when he learned the truth about his best friend.

"I know. Me too," he said, slowly pulling away. He looked so sad. Damn you, Roger, she thought, fury filling her once again.

"I promise we'll do everything-"

He pressed his finger to her lips. "Don't. Not now. I still need some time to digest this."

She nodded. "Okay."

He smiled and took her hand, reaching for the ring. He took it. "So tell me. Was it this ring that saved me?"

She snorted and returned his smile. "Oh please. You know you had me way before that."

"I bet you missed what was in it," he said, raising it to the light.

Only as he did that, she noticed the inscription. It was tiny, and it probably cost him more than the ring itself, but there it was. _Always, M_. She looked at him as he slid it on her finger. It fit perfectly.

"Are we okay now?" he asked, his expression pleading and a bit hesitant still.

She smiled and snaked her arms around his neck again, gently pulling his head down for a lingering kiss. "We're okay."


	12. Just a Kiss

**A/N- Two major reasons for this ridiculously late update: an incredibly hectic week, and my personal feeling that I sort of lost my grip on Maureen's character. At some point I kind of realized she didn't really sound like herself, but more like… me, in a way, I guess. So I spent some extra time on this chapter, trying to work on her character in a way that would make her a bit more Maureenish. This chapter is really more of a filler, but I hope you'll like it still. I threw a small Rent NYTW reference in there, let's see if you'll get it… Happy reading! _Please review!_**

**11- Just a Kiss**

"Okay! I'm coming out! You can open your eyes now!" she called from the hall. All she got in reply was a soft grumble. She shrugged but stepped out to the living-room anyway. Mark was there where she last left him, lying on the couch, and she stopped right in front of him, striking a pose. "_Ta-da_! What do you think?"

Mark stared at her, jaw-dropped. He didn't say anything for a very long time, so for a moment she thought he fell asleep again, which was kind of unlikely because his eyes were wide-open.

"Pookie, are you okay?" she asked, racing for the couch. She sat beside him and felt for his forehead. Poor thing, he was still burning up.

"I'm… you… this is what you're gonna wear?" he asked weakly, no so much because of his fever, it seemed.

"Yeah! Isn't it stunning?"

"What happened to the cat-suit?"

"I found this one last week and it looked so pretty on the mannequin! _And_ it had a matching costume for you too, I _had_ to get it! It seems like you're not gonna use the costume after all, under the circumstances. And the cat-suit? I guess I'll save it for, umm, other opportunities," she said, winking. Then she looked at him seriously. "Are you sure it's okay that I'm going?"

"Maureen, there's nothing you can do for me here and you know it. I just need to rest. I want you guys to have a good time. So go, I promise I won't die or anything."

"Okay," she said quietly, caressing his cheek. "We won't stay out long."

Just then, Benny walked in, dressed as if he was at work. He dropped his briefcase on the table and looked up to acknowledge them. "Happy, happy Hallow-" Then he did a double take, and stared at her shamelessly. "W-what are you supposed to be?"

She frowned and looked down at her costume. It was a tiny green dress that ended way above her knees and looked as if someone tore it here and then, which was kind of on purpose. "I was supposed to be Tinkerbelle and have Mark dress as Peter Pan, but since he ditched me, I guess I'm just a green fairy without a date on Halloween!" she said, her voice getting a bit whiny. She didn't mean to come out so bitter and frustrated, but she was extremely disappointed that Mark came down with a flu couple of days before. He would have looked so adorable in that costume she got for him!

"What are you talking about, I didn't ditch you!" said Mark. "Believe me, I'd rather wear a stupid Peter Pan costume, tights and all, than-" Then he seemed to realize what he was saying, and shook his head. "Actually no, scratch that. Being sick on Halloween rocks."

Benny roared with laughter. "Mark as Peter Pan! Now, how much would I pay to see _that_!" Mark frowned. As Benny's laughter died out, he looked up at her and said, "Well, I saw Collins downstairs and he's dressed as a pirate. You can be a fairy in captivity. Seems almost as good as Tinkerbelle, isn't it?"

"Almost," she replied, softening a bit. Then she realized what he had just said. "Collins is downstairs already? What time is it?" she glanced at Mark's watch. Was _that_ the time? "Oh crap, I'm so late!" she grabbed her wand and leaned down to kiss Mark. "I'll be back before you know it. In the meantime, Mr. Coffin here will keep you company," she said, flashing a sweet smile at Benny. "How is it that you're home by the way?"

"Alison and her parents went to Switzerland for their annual ski vacation."

She let out a long whistle. "Switzerland, huh? Neat. And they didn't ask you to come along?" she asked as sweetly as she could. She wondered if she'd be able to push it far enough to annoy him. Benny wasn't easily annoyed. She guessed it was because she wasn't trying hard enough. Ever since she got to this realization, she took the mission of annoying Benny on herself. He seemed easier to handle than, say, Collins, and she did manage to annoy Collins once or twice, so she figured it was only a matter of time before she'd get to Benny as well.

Unfortunately, Benny didn't flinch. "Well, it's not like we're engaged or anything."

"I thought you were getting there."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "What is it to you?"

She smiled innocently. "Nothin', just showing some interest."

"Looking for gossip seems more like it," he said kind of coldly, as if thinking his tone would scare her off. His tone also sort of implied that the conversation was over. Damn. He _still_ wasn't annoyed. Gah. "Anyway didn't you say you were late?"

"I did. I am. I'm off." Then she remembered something and gave Benny an innocent look. "Where's your costume, Benny?"

Benny rolled his eyes. "Can't you tell? I'm a guy in the real-estate business who has a lot of paperwork to finish and hand in to his boss by 9am tomorrow."

"Oh. How… original," she replied dryly. She could never realize those people who lacked the Halloween spirit. She was crazy about Halloween. People like Benny kind of sucked all the fun out of it. "Well, you can do it and watch Mark until we go back, can't you?" Benny shrugged. Taking it as a 'yes', she smiled, and turned her attention back to Mark. "And if he tells me you were good… I'll make sure you'll get your trick or treat later," she whispered seductively into his ear.

Mark groaned miserably. "I can't even _think_ about that right now." He turned away from her so he wouldn't have to cough in her face. Then when it died out, he turned to her again, looking even more miserable. "I swear, this is a punishment. This is God's way to remind me to stick to my own holidays instead of celebrating yours."

She laughed softly and got up, shaking her head over him until some glitters fell from her hair on his blanket. "Fairy dust… and I'm gone."

She knew he wouldn't be able to resist this. He smiled. "Cute."

Benny looked disgusted. "You're such a drama queen, Johnson."

She chose to ignore him. "Bye guys! See you later!" Another wave of her wand, and she was gone, racing down the stairs.

Collins was waiting for her in front of their building. He was staying over at a friend's house because of Mark's flu. Being HIV positive, they didn't really want to know what affect a simple flu would have on Collins if he caught it. He wasn't allowed to go upstairs until Mark was completely better. They were on their way for a Halloween party at the club the Well Hungarians were playing at. It was their first gig in a while. Roger had his ups and downs. He was still using, she knew, but now it was less frequent. They all had a big talk right after she and Mark made up, and everyone told him how they felt about it. He promised he'd try. It was just impossible to stop at once, she guessed. She kept telling herself it wasn't because he didn't really want to stop, because he only wanted to get them off his back, but deep down inside, she knew it was probably the case. Besides, they did what they had to do. At least now he knew how they felt about it (as if he couldn't guess it himself); the rest, or at least most of it, was up to him now. She knew he felt extremely guilty, being the cause of her fight with Mark. If anything, he was trying to make it up for them because of that.

Collins burst out laughing as she stormed out of the building. "That's a very impressive entry."

"You like it?" she asked, turning around so he could see every bit of her dress.

"You look stunning," he smiled, kissing her cheek. Then he gave her a look. "Did Mark see you go out like this?"

She waved her wand. She could get used to that little thing. "He's too sick to care."

"Poor boy. Is he any better?"

"Not really. I'm doing all I can. He doesn't get sick much, but when he does, he gets it bad," she said sorrowfully. It was the one party to which he actually agreed to go, and now he couldn't. Then she took another look at Collins' costume. "Love this cloak, by the way," she giggled, poking his side with her wand. He was wearing a crimson velvet cloak along with an old-fashioned suit and a silly-looking parrot on one shoulder. Just like her, Collins was sucker for Halloween as well. "You kind of look like the Phantom of the Opera."

"If he had an eye-patch and a parrot," Collins smiled, taking her arm. "Let's go, we're gonna be late."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The Well Hungarians gave one of their best performances that night. Roger was definitely in his best, nailing it in every song. April wasn't around. She didn't know why, but she didn't bother to ask. He was always more prone to temptations when she was around. She danced with Collins and with some friends she happened to meet there, and then after a while she went over to sit with Collins by the bar. He bought her a drink and they just sat and talked for a while, since they didn't really have a chance to do that since Mark got sick. Then the band took a break, and Roger joined them. Collins, who was getting a bit drunk, laughed, patted on his shoulder and handed him a beer.

"How awesome are we tonight?" asked Roger, beaming.

"Nah, you still suck. You'll suck forever, man," said Collins drunkenly, tossing his drink in the air.

"That's okay, Thomas, I never expect any feedback from _you_. I was talking to the gorgeous fairy next to you," Roger said, smiling at her.

"Careful, Davis, don't drool all over her high heels. You know it scares them when you do that."

Roger rolled his eyes at Collins' remark. Then he looked around and at her. "Mark is still sick?"

She nodded sadly. "Mark is still sick."

"You left him alone?"

"No, Benny just got home when I left, so he's sort of babysitting him now."

Roger burst out laughing. "God, poor Mark. To be sick on Halloween _and_ have Benny as company?"

"I think I would rather stay with Benny than having to listen to this noise you call music."

"Collins, unless you've got something intelligent to say-"

"Oh, I've _always_ got intelligent things to say," said Collins.

"Yeah. I noticed," Roger said dryly, messing with the parrot on Collins' shoulder. Collins made a face and set his parrot free by slapping Roger's arm away. Roger pretended to look offended, and then looked at her. "Hey, how about you'll go up there after our break?"

This took her by surprise. "What, to sing with you guys?" She joined them for their rehearsals couple of times, but he never actually offered she'd go onstage with them.

"Yeah. You'll make us look even better."

Collins rolled his eyes. "Not a chance. Not even her."

Roger ignored him. "We can try this duet we did once on the fire escape. Or you can do a solo if you want. This crappy song about the Starbucks guy."

"If you're mocking my music, I'm not going up there," she said, pouting, making both of them laugh.

"So, what, now I need to beg that you'll go up there to sing with us?"

"That would be nice," she smiled sweetly.

"Oh Miss Johnson, the mighty queen of Alphabet City, will you please do us the honor and come onstage to sing with us, your humble servants?"

She opened her mouth to answer, when two strong arms circled her waist from behind. She jumped, startled, and look back to see a stranger in a Zorro costume, smiling at her like an idiot. A drunken idiot, by the smell of it.

"Does the pretty lady have a name?"

"The pretty lady is not interested, thank you," she replied dryly, freeing herself from his grip. She didn't feel like flirting with strangers tonight. Not that he seemed to be worth the efforts, anyway. Roger and Collins stood there quietly, as if to let her handle it by herself, but she could see on their faces that they were ready to kick the guy's ass if necessary.

The stranger didn't seem too impressed by her refusal. "Oh, why not, sugar? Just one dance; no harm in that, right?"

"She said she wasn't interested," said Collins, in a low, threatening tone that managed to scare even her.

The guy measured him from his toes up. "And who are you, her daddy?"

"Boyfriend, actually," she improvised, throwing Collins a 'work me with' look. Roger, who obviously got the look as well, tried to hide a smirk by sipping his beer. She went over to Collins and wrapped her arms around his neck. "A very jealous one, that is," she added, shooting Collins a seductive look. "Isn't that so, baby?"

"Extremely jealous, yeah," Collins murmured, leaning down to kiss her neck.

On the side, Roger was choking on his beer. He stared at them with his mouth wide-open. He didn't hang out with them a lot lately, so he didn't know they had to use that tactic every now and again.

"So the next dance is kind of taken already, you see," she smiled sweetly.

"Y-yeah, well, your loss." Collins raised an eyebrow. The guy did a step back, looking somewhat intimidated. "I-I'd better go now."

"You better," she nodded. The three of them watched him mingle again among the crowd.

"Holy shit, dude, that was some show!" Roger laughed.

She smiled, then looked up at Collins gratefully. "Thanks."

"Any time," he said, returning her smile.

"Where were we, before this small interruption?" she asked Roger, shifting a bit so that she was now leaning against Collins, her back against his stomach, just in case. His arms were wrapped protectively around her waist.

"You just said you'd sing with us."

She laughed. "Nice try, Davis."

"But…?"

"But I'll be extremely nice and go up there."

Roger smiled. "Awesome."

"It's just because misses the spotlight, Davis."

But Roger didn't seem to hear him. He looked at something behind Collins' shoulder. "He's still looking at you." She looked at him questionably. "That jerk that is dressed like Zorro. I can see him just standing there."

"In that case…" she said, a slow, evil smile curling on her lips. She thought about doing this for quite some time, just to see how it would be. Now the circumstances worked perfectly in her favor; Mark wasn't around to make jealousy scenes (which she didn't expect from him, anyway), and Collins looked too drunk to really care. She turned and looked up at him. "Wanna try something a bit more risky?"

He looked at her slyly. "Depends what I'll have to do."

She smiled and brought his head down, kissing him fully and deeply on the lips. It obviously caught him off guard, but he didn't push her off. He was kissing her back, out of instinct, she figured. It was slow and hesitant, like he still didn't realize what he was doing. And then, when he did, he pulled away and looked down at her, breathless and confused.

She smiled sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed. "I swear to God, Collins, you're wasted on the wrong side of the game," she said, trying to regain her breath.

"For a moment I thought you forgot what side of the game was the wrong one," he replied.

For a second, she thought he was mad at her for kissing him. His tone sounded extremely serious, his expression remained blank. She wondered if she should apologize. Guilt and regret hit her full force. She shouldn't have done that. God, what was she thinking? Alcohol or not, she was sober enough to know this was wrong. She would have felt much better if it was some random guy, even if it was Roger, but this was _Collins_. Did it hurt him? Would he hate her after that? She shouldn't have done that.

"Well, it kind of worked, because the jerk is gone," said Roger, breaking the tensed silence.

She hardly heard him. She looked at Collins seriously. "Collins, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I mean I did mean to, I just didn't…" Ugh. This was really not the time to get so inarticulate! She let out a frustrated sigh and looked up at him pleadingly. "Please say something."

He said nothing. He looked away. She could feel her heart racing. He would never forgive her; he'd never speak to her again. But then her fears were cut short when she realized he was trying really hard not to giggle in her face. The bastard. She hit him square on the chest. That did it; he burst into laughter. She could hardly make out what he was saying. "You should… have… seen… that look… that look on your…" the rest kind of swallowed by his uncontrollable giggles as they were getting worse. It took him a moment, but then he finally managed to get himself together, although there was still a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"You're drunk, Collins," she grumbled. She didn't like being laughed at.

"Of course I'm drunk! It's Halloween!" She said nothing. He gave her a look. "Oh, come on, don't get all offensive on me for making fun of you. _You_ kissed _me_, remember?"

Yeah, like she could forget. It felt like it was going to haunt her forever. Damn it. She'd just have to… blame it on the alcohol and make believe it never happened. But suddenly she couldn't stop thinking about what Mark might do if he'd ever find out. Sure, she dismissed it before, but now it was kind of bugging her. "Let's… not tell Mark about this, okay?" she asked slowly, suddenly feeling extremely guilty. "He might take it the wrong way."

"Tell him about what?" Collins asked innocently, and winked. "You were drunk and acted silly, that's all. He didn't miss a thing, the music was bad 'cause the band sucked."

"Hey!" Roger. Who else?

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She joined Roger onstage for the second part of the band's performance. Since they didn't have anything planned, they had to improvise with cover versions to some well-known duets, their voices fitting perfectly together, making the crowd roar. They left the party once the performance was over. She really thought she should be back and see how Mark was doing, and the boys didn't seem so willing to stay any longer. After dropping Collins at his friends' building, she and Roger continued towards their own place. The night air was chilly and she shivered in spite of herself. Now she thought it was a really stupid idea to go out with nothing on but this little dress just so that a coat wouldn't ruin the effect of it. The last thing she wanted was to come down with a flu like Mark.

"You're cold, huh?" Roger asked.

"No, of course not, I'm just-" Her protest was cut short when he took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. She smiled, slipping her arms into the sleeves. "Thanks." They continued walking in silence. She was tired, and she figured Roger was tired too after his performance. But there was this thing she wanted to talk to him about, and it seemed like a good time, now that they were alone. "So, umm, how is it that April wasn't there tonight?"

Roger glanced at her, kind of surprised. "We… decided to cool it down for a while."

She suspected as much. It's been a while since she had last seen April at the loft, too. "Oh. I didn't know that."

"I didn't tell."

She took his hand. "I think it'll do you good," she said gently. She knew that things were extremely tensed between him and Mark ever since he found out the truth. They were still talking, but it wasn't like before. Roger betrayed Mark's trust, and as far as Mark was concerned, it was the worst thing he could possibly do. She knew that Roger would have to work really hard to regain this trust.

"I just need some time to figure things out."

"You know I'm here if you need to talk, right? Nothing changed." Except that now everything he did looked suspicious to them; they watched him more closely, and they had to make sure they didn't leave any money wandering around the loft so that he wouldn't find it and use it for buying smack. Other than that… yeah. Nothing changed.

"You probably have other things on your mind now," he said, squeezing her hand. His finger brushed against the ring Mark got her. He flashed her a devilish smile. "You're wearing his ring now, huh?" It sounded more like amusement than sarcasm or mockery. She smiled. She could bet he never thought it would last so long. She looked up and saw him watching her, smiling like an idiot. "That's so cute. So 50's."

She frowned. In spite of everything, he was still the same old Roger.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

It was almost 3am when they went back into the loft. Mark was still on the couch, fast asleep. His mouth was slightly open, and she could notice a trail of used tissues that started on his blanket and ended somewhere under the coffee table. She whispered good night to Roger, who smiled and disappeared down the hall, and then went over to kneel next to the couch. She felt for Mark's forehead. Still warm. His eyes fluttered open when she laid her hand against his forehead.

"Maureen?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Shh… go back to sleep, baby," she whispered.

He sat up, groaning softly at the effort of it. "What time is it?"

"Late. Almost three. Do you feel any better?"

"Not really."

"Do you want me to help you to get to bed?"

"I think I'll stay here. You take the bed this time, looks like you need it," he smiled sleepily, touching her chin.

"Okay. Will it be necessary to kick Benny's ass tomorrow or did he take a good care of you?"

"It was okay, I guess. He tried to convince me to get into his business."

"What, real estate?"

"Yep."

She smiled. It definitely sounded like something Benny would do. "What did you tell him?"

Mark looked contemplated. "I really can't remember. The last thing I remember is him telling me how there's no future or money in filming, whereas in real estate there are both. But I think I kind of lost consciousness before I had a chance to say anything."

"Yeah, well, you still look like you're gonna lose consciousness," she observed. "So come on. Lay back down. I'll change and make you some tea before I'll go to bed."

"Thanks," he replied, lying down. He closed his eyes, snuggling into the blanket. He didn't even try to protest, so she figured he was really out of it. She hoped he'd feel better soon. She got tired from sleeping alone. She lingered next to him for a moment, and then when she thought he was asleep, she got up, about to go to their bedroom. Then when she was halfway there, she heard his voice again. "How was the party?"

She stopped dead on her tracks, her heart missing a beat. _Blame it on the alcohol and make believe it never happened_. "I've been in better ones," she said vaguely, not even looking back.

"Oh."

That pang of guilt again. Should she tell him anyway? What different would it make? It was just a kiss. It was _Collins_. It wasn't even cheating. Besides, would it clear her conscience if he'd know? Would it make her she feel less guilty? "Mark-"

"Yeah?"

It probably wouldn't. Besides, a girl must have a secret or two. "Nothing. Close your eyes; I'll bring you that tea in a bit."


	13. Life's Forever Changing

**12- Life's Forever Changing **

They stormed into the building, exchanging fervent, passionate kisses. Mark pushed her backwards until he finally got what he was looking for as he got her pressed against the wall. She wrapped one leg around his waist as he leaned down to kiss her neck, her chin, her jaw, settling on her earlobe, one of his hands making its way up her thigh under her skirt. She moaned, burying her head in his shoulder to muffle the sound, pulling him closer. They could hardy make their way upstairs. She wasn't sure what was it in the movie they had just stepped out of, but they couldn't keep their hands off one another throughout the whole thing. Even Mark, who normally couldn't even take her hand in the darkness of the theater without blushing. But not that night. She had no idea how they managed to get to their building, but there they were, stopping every two stairs or so, kissing hungrily, touching, groping, caressing. The way upstairs never looked so long.

When they finally got into the loft Mark pinned her against the door, letting his hands drift under her shirt as his lips locked back with hers. She managed to take off his jacket and throw it across the room. He struggled with the clasp of her bra for a while, but eventually gave up. They were moving again, she suddenly realized, deeper into the loft. She tried to look back over Mark's shoulder, but everything was too dark. Then there was a noise of metal as her back was against something solid again. The table. Hmm. That might be slightly uncomfortable. Mark didn't seem to care. His hands drifted under her skirt again, up her thigh, about to rip her panty off.

"Bedroom," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck, sitting up. He obeyed and slid his hands to her back again, following her lead down the dark hall to their bedroom. They stumbled inside, still kissing, as Mark kicked the door shut. They fell on the bed in their frenzied attempts to get rid of each other's clothes as fast as possible. If she wasn't so eager to get him out of his clothes, she would have giggled at their situation.

At some point, when they were both half naked, Mark reached out his hand, feeling for the top drawer of the nightstand. He got it opened and rummaged in it the best he could with one hand, and then pulled away reluctantly. "Shit. We ran out of condoms. I'll check in the bathroom," he said, breathing heavily. Then he smiled and straightened his glasses, then moved a lock of hair out of her face. "Don't you go anywhere," he added, stealing one more kiss, and left the room.

She sat up, huffing in discontent. Trust Mark to kill off the mood that way. And still she thought she should forgive him because, well, in the year they've been together, she had never seen him like this. Maybe it was something in the spring air. She smiled to herself. Gotta love spring-time.

"Maureen?" She heard Mark's voice from down the hall, but it sounded somewhat different than usual. Kind of urgent and a bit panicked, if she hadn't known better.

"What? You can't find it? I bet there are some in Roger's-"

"Just… put some clothes on. And get over here. Hurry up."

Her heart sank. A sudden chill ran down her spine. Something was wrong. She could tell by the sound of his voice. And it sounded way too serious to be a rat or a cockroach. She reached for the first shirt she found on the bed, slipped into it and left the room hastily.

Mark was standing at the hallway, facing the bathroom door that was wide open. He looked up when she got there, and she was terrified by what she has seen in his eyes. Not to mention the fact that suddenly he was very pale. Paler than usual, that is. She was about to go into the bathroom, but as if he guessed it, he made one step towards her and put his arms on her shoulders to stop her. "Don't."

She gave him a look. "What's wrong?"

He looked extremely serious. So serious it scared her. "I don't think you should go in there but I know I won't be able to stop you. Just promise me you're gonna stay calm. I'm right here, okay? Whatever happens. And don't scream," he added, his face expressionless.

She walked past him. "Scream? Why would I-" A chuckle froze its way up her throat as she was standing at the doorway, finally witnessing what Mark had only minutes before. She couldn't scream. She couldn't do anything, but stare. Dizziness and nausea hit her full-force, paralyzing her. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she murmured over and over, finally finding the strength to rush inside. Mark was soon to follow. She knelt on the floor, beside the figure who laid on the floor in a puddle of blood. "April? Honey, what have you done?"

The question stayed hung in mid-air, unanswered.

She reached out and touched April's neck. April winced as she did. She still had a pulse, but it was weak. She seemed to have lost a lot of blood already. Thoughts were rushing, panicked and incoherent, making her head spin. Roger. They must get him. Maybe they'd clean her up first so he wouldn't have to witness all that. They needed something to wrap around her wrists, where all the blood seemed to come from, to stop it. There must be a towel or a shirt around there somewhere… A razor… only a small distance away. Was that how she did it? But everything seemed to be okay between them in the past couple of months, why would she-

And that's when she realized April's eyes were open. Her terrified eyes met April's tortured ones. She looked in pain, but not just physical pain.

She turned and looked urgently at Mark. "She's still alive! Call 911!"

"I'm on it," he said and hurried off. She turned to look at April again. Something told her that the girl was slipping away. Waiting for help was useless. Her time was running out. All the color had drained from her face, yet her eyes looked surprisingly alert. She was trembling, probably as a result of blood-loss. God, so much blood…

"Why would you do such a thing, April?" she whispered, tears running down her cheeks without her even being aware to them. It's not like the two of them had been the best of friends, especially not after everything that happened with Roger couple of months back, but April was obviously in pain, and it didn't look like she could help her in any way, to make things better for her. Knowing that there was not much she could do made her feel so hopeless. April's lips moved slightly, as if she was trying to say something. She leaned down so she could hear her better. "What is it?"

"Roger… tell… I'm sorry… love…" said April, her eyes fluttering shut.

"April, _don't_! Open your eyes! Fight this!" Her nerves were running wild. She felt as if she was watching the scene from outside the body. It made absolutely no sense. It wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Look, everything is gonna be okay. Mark went to call 911, they'll be here soon, we can work this out!"

"No… tired… can't… do this…"

"Why, April? Just tell me why," she whispered, choking with tears. April opened her eyes, but she seemed to be making great efforts to do so. Their gazes locked. "Why, April?" she repeated, a bit more persistently. She had to know.

And then, when April uttered that one single word, she wished that she hadn't. "AIDS."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

It wasn't happening, not really. It couldn't have been. This was what she kept telling herself in the couple of days following April's death. It was the worst of nightmares, that's all. April never committed suicide in their bathroom; they never had to face Roger with the note that informed him that he had AIDS; they were never there when a doctor confirmed he was HIV positive; they were not getting ready for her funeral.

She zipped up her black dress, the only thing that looked appropriate for a funeral. Silent tears ran down her face as she did. It seemed as if she couldn't stop crying ever since it all started. It amazed her that she still had tears left.

Mark walked into their bedroom, looking as grim as she felt. He pulled a sweater over his dress-shirt and then walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. His eyes were red and puffy. It was an unspoken rule not to cry in Roger's presence, since he was devastated enough as it was. Sometimes she did when she couldn't help it, but Mark never did. It was at night when he let himself mourn for the death of their friend. She always held him when he cried. More than once she suspected it was Roger's fate Mark was mourning on, rather than April's death.

She sniffed and shook her head. "Is Collins here yet?" There was no chance they'd be able to get Roger out of the house if Collins wasn't there.

"Yeah. He's in the living-room. And Benny said he'd meet us there." Which made sense, now that he was living with Allison, to whom he got engaged the month before. April used to call her Muffy behind Benny's back.

It just dawned on her that April would never be able to do that again.

A sob escaped her, and her silent tears turned into an actual crying within seconds. Mark was fast to react; he turned to face her and wrapped her in a tight hug, letting her cry into his sweater, whispering soothing words into her ear.

"It just seemed so wrong," she cried. "She's too young to go. Parents shouldn't bury their children like that, it's just so fuckin' wrong."

"Shh… I know," Mark murmured, rubbing her back.

The door creaked open, and Collins stepped in. "Ready to go, you guys?" he asked quietly.

Mark looked at her with the same silent question in his eyes. She nodded and quickly wiped her tears.

As she followed them out of the room, she was sure of one thing. Things would never be the same again.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

A week passed. She couldn't go into the bathroom without shivering. She kept seeing April's body sprawled on the floor, that tormented, pleading look in her eyes. That look seemed to haunt her. The bathroom was clean now, of course, but somehow she could still smell the blood. She and Mark tested for HIV because they both had contact with April's infected blood, but luckily they both came out negative.

Roger locked himself in his room. This was his way of mourning, Collins told them. Maybe it was better to just let him be for a while. Mark was the only one who was allowed inside, mostly trying to convince Roger to eat, but Roger hardly ever touched anything of it. She knew what he was trying to do. She knew he was blaming himself for her death, for not being the one who found her there. Maybe he thought he would have been able to stop her, she didn't know. She did know that he thought that having AIDS was his punishment. As such, he probably didn't see any reason to fight it.

The silence in the living-room was thick and tensed. Collins was reading term papers. She knew it was probably the last thing on his mind at the moment, but he had a really pressing deadline. She laid on the couch, her head on his lap, and he ran his hand through her hair as he read along. The movement of his hand lulled her to sleep. She couldn't focus doing anything else. She took a week off from work, telling her boss that she had to go back to Jersey because her grandmother had died. He didn't look like he believed her, but he gave her the time off anyway. She dreaded the thought of going back there the following day. She had no idea how she was going to handle the inquirings, the looks, the whisperings behind her back. Those were inevitable in a place where everyone knew everything about everyone else.

Mark stepped into the living-room, looking exhausted. He took a seat on the armchair across from her and Collins. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

"Did he eat anything?" Collins asked after a while.

Mark opened his eyes. "A little. It can't go on like this. We gotta go something."

"Do you want me to go in there and talk to him?"

"I don't think it's gonna help."

"It might."

Mark sighed. He looked completely drained from energy. It broke her heart to see him like that. It was so unlike him. "I don't know what to do."

"Look, we can't let him go down like that," she said, sitting up. "We can't let him blame himself for her death. He must realize it wasn't his fault. Anyway, this is not the thing that really matters right now. He has AIDS. He needs to take care of himself, he needs to eat. He must go out of that damn room and face reality."

"Maybe he just needs some time," Mark said quietly. First Collins, now Roger… she could only imagine what he was going through.

She looked at him sadly. "Time is just the thing he doesn't have."

"Maureen's right," said Collins. "We need to get him out of there or it'll be the end of him. We need to make sure that he eats, and more importantly, that he takes his AZT."

An involuntary shiver went through her. Roger and AZT were two things she never thought she'd have to put together. But then again, so were Collins and AZT, at the time.

"How are we going to do that?" asked Mark.

"Even if we don't yet know how, we must at least pretend we can handle things," said Collins. "Right now Roger's wrecked. Even if he doesn't realize it, he expects us to be the strong ones. Until we'll figure something out, we must let him believe in that."

"It's always easier to talk."

"I've never said it's gonna be easy, Mark. But if it's hard for us, think what it is for Roger. Think of what he's going through. Try to put yourself in his place."

Mark looked up at her, suddenly very pale. It clearly never crossed his mind. Their eyes met. For a moment, it was like she could read his mind. It could have been you on that floor, in that coffin, it said. It could have been me in that room mourning you. She looked away. She didn't even want to think about it.

Collins paused for a moment, as if to allow his words to sink in, and then continued. "We need to do this gradually. First we'll make sure he eats. Let him stay in his room if that makes him feel better. But he must eat. We need to be persistent," he said, looking directly at Mark, who was obviously the least persistent among the three of them. "Then after a while if he's not showing any sighs of improvement, we can start talking a bit about what happened." He looked at her. "He seems to trust you. I know for a fact he told you stuff he didn't even tell Mark."

She knew she should have felt somewhat flattered, but under the circumstances, she was more terrified than anything else. How was she supposed to talk to him about his girlfriend's suicide? About him having AIDS? Who said he'd be willing to say anything at all?

As if feeling her silent hesitations, Collins took her hand. "Even if he doesn't listen, even if he doesn't say anything about it, let him just know you're there for him."

She nodded. "Okay. Alright, I will."

"Good. Don't let it bother you now though. I think it's gonna take a while to get there."

Knowing Roger, she knew Collins was probably right.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

It turned out to be more difficult than they all thought. They all expected a struggle of course, but they assumed that at some point, Roger would tire out. Frequently Collins' voice echoed through the loft, loud and distracting, as he was screaming at Roger to get a grip, that they were doing this for his own good, that he should listen to them. Screaming seemed to be the only way to get to him.

She had to go back to work. Everyone at the Life wanted to confirm the rumors with her. She got so tired of repeating the story over and over again. It made things scarier, as if reminding her that it was really happening. Those who didn't turn to her just for the gossip of it were great and offered their support. The cook even packed leftovers for her every day at the end of her shift, so she could take it to Roger.

Mark and Collins had to handle Roger when she worked. Collins made some excuse for the guys at the MIT, so he was around quite a lot. She didn't think she and Mark could deal with Roger by themselves. Although he had moments in which he was so stubborn she could strangle him, Mark wasn't that assertive when it came to confronting Roger. And she wasn't assertive enough, it appeared.

By the second week, the three of them were worn-out. Nights were sleepless, which made them all drowsy and cranky the mornings afterwards. It was like their lives stopped still, and taking care of Roger became their sole purpose.

She got them some pizza for dinner. She was craving for pizza for a while now, and finally could afford it, as she got her paycheck that afternoon. She chose a place where she knew they had the best pizza, and made sure to top it with all of Roger's favorites. She got some chocolate ice-cream for desert. Then, feeling a bit more light-hearted than lately, she headed home.

There was a sound of running water when she walked in and locked the door behind her. She laid the pizza on the table, stuffed the ice-cream in the freezer and went into the living-room, where Mark was asleep on the couch. This left either Collins or Roger as the one who was in the shower. As she approached Mark, she noticed an open notebook on the coffee table. So he was finally getting back to work. She was glad he did. It would distract him from all the shit that's been going on. Her eyes wandered over the last lines, written hastily in blue ink. _The music ignites the night with passionate fire_. Her lips curled in an amused grin. She didn't know Mark was so… poetic.

She let her eyes linger on him for a moment. She loved watching him sleep. Even now, he looked so peaceful, even though it was probably far from being the case. She threw a glance at the hall, from which the sound of running water was still audible. Then she went over and laid on the couch beside Mark, placing a small kiss on his lips. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at her sleepily. "You know, in fairy-tales it's usually the other way around," she said, returning his smile.

"I'll try to remember it the next time," he said, sitting up. "What's that smell?"

"I got us pizza for dinner."

His eyes lit. "Too late for Christmas. What's the occasion?"

"I got paid. I thought we deserved a decent dinner." She ran a hand through his messy hair. "How was today?"

"More or less like yesterday." Then he looked at her seriously. "We've got a problem."

Oh-uh. Now what? "What happened?"

"It's Collins. He got a call from MIT this afternoon. He must go back to work or he'll get fired. They're already pissed at him because some of his theories, so he's an easy target for them. We can't afford his getting fired right now."

She was afraid of that. He didn't show up to work for quite some time now. She figured that the people at MIT wouldn't be so thoughtful forever. "So… the game is down to you and me?" she asked, although she kind of knew the answer.

Mark nodded. "Looks like it."

"Do you think we're ready for it?" Honestly, she wasn't sure that they were.

"I think… that we don't really have a choice," he said, looking at her seriously. "They want him back by Monday morning. It'll give us some time."

"Yeah," she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. Suddenly she was so tired.

"Everything's gonna be okay," he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

She looked up at him. She wanted to tell him to stop lying, that things couldn't be okay and they never would, but there was so much hope in his voice, that she thought better of saying what was on her mind.

As if feeling her resentment for his false promise, Mark smiled and kissed her forehead. Their eyes locked as he slowly pulled away. It felt as if they were both thinking of the same thing. His next kiss was meant for her lips, meeting hers halfway. His lips brushed against hers, their kisses turning more passionate by the second. God, she needed that. It felt as if being so close to him was the only way to remain safe. The last time they kissed like that was… the night they found April, she realized, shivering slightly.

"What's wrong?" Mark murmured, trailing his kisses to her neck.

"Nothing," she managed to let out, with growing distraction.

"You're lying…" he whispered, but didn't stop. She didn't bother to contradict him. He gently pushed her backwards until she laid on the couch. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he leaned down to kiss her again.

"_Ugh_! You guys, don't do that _here_, you've got a bedroom for stuff like that!" said a deep voice from somewhere in the room. She pulled away, extremely unfocused, and looked behind Mark's shoulder to see Collins standing there, a disgusted yet amused expression plastered to his face.

"Where did _you_ come from?" she asked breathlessly as they sat up.

"Uh… I think it was from the hallway," Collins joked. She rolled her eyes. He sniffed the air. "Is that pizza I'm smelling?"

Shit. The pizza. It suddenly dawned on her that she was starving. She got up and walked over to the table where she left it. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about it. We'd better eat it while it's still warm."

So they sat down to eat, and she heard from Collins the missing details about his upcoming return to MIT. It was clear that he really didn't want to go, but he didn't have much choice. They depended on his salary as much as they depended on hers.

She just reached for a second piece of pizza when a rustle made the three of them look up. She dropped her piece back to its place as Roger stepped into the living-room. He looked better than he did in the past couple of weeks. Sure, he still had that wrecked expression, and he still needed a shave and a haircut, but at the same time his eyes looked more peaceful and at ease. Her eyes met Collins and he did the slightest movement with his head.

"Roger," Collins said, gesturing towards an empty seat next to Mark. "Maureen got us some pizza for dinner. You hungry?" His tone was normal, his expression cheerful. He acted as if the last couple of weeks never happened.

Roger hesitated, but then slowly walked towards the table and sat down. "A little." He reached for a piece of pizza, but then put it down and looked at them. "Guys, I wanted to… apologize. For being such a pain in the ass in the last couple of weeks."

"Roger-" Collins started, but Roger gave him a look, as if telling him he still had some things to say to them.

"I had a lot of time to do some thinking in there. I know I made you guys worried, but I had to figure out what the hell I'm gonna do with my life now. What's left of my life," he corrected himself, smiling sadly. Then he turned serious again. "I wanna stop," he said. There was so much pain and desperation in his voice, it broke her heart listening to him. "I _need_ to stop. I guess it's kind of late for that now, but-"

"It's never too late," she said softly, not even apologizing for cutting him off. She was so relieved he finally made the right decision, no matter how painful it was.

There was a pause. Roger seemed to hesitate, but then he said quietly, "I think I need help."

Mark nodded and looked carefully at Roger. "I know a place, a clinic-"

"A rehab," said Collins.

Roger shook his head. "No. This is just it, guys. I don't want to end up in a place like that."

"They can help you," Mark said, looking at him pleadingly.

"Mark, I know myself, I'll never last in a place like that."

Collins shook his head, as if he realized where Roger was going with this. "We can't do this here, Roger."

Roger looked up at him. She could tell this was exactly the thing he was hoping for. "Why not?"

"Because withdrawal is not that easy. It's painful, and who knows how violent you'd turn out to be. Do you really want it under your responsibility, knowing you might physically hurt one of us?" his tone was hard and serious. "There are people that this is their job. They know how to handle these situations. We don't."

"I can't go to rehab, Collins."

"How do you know if you haven't tried it?"

"Because I know myself. And I'm asking your help."

"I think you're doing a mistake," said Collins.

Roger shook his head sadly. "I've done a mistake before, Collins. Now I'm just paying for it." He looked around the table. When his eyes met hers, sad and pleading, something within her broke. "Are you with me or not?"

"That's up to Mark and Maureen to decide. I'm… leaving for MIT on Monday."

Shit. She forgot about that. There was no way they'd be able to handle Roger, especially if he'd go through all the symptoms of withdrawal. They'd simply have to refuse. They couldn't do it. Collins was right, there were people out there that this was their job. But before she managed to express her objection, Mark spoke out.

"Of course we're with you, Roger," he said. She stared at him. Was he out of his mind? Didn't he realize what withdrawal meant? They could never handle him alone! Glancing at Collins, he seemed to be thinking the same.

Roger smiled gratefully at Mark, and then turned his eyes to her. "Maureen?"

She felt completely torn. She couldn't possibly refuse him. There was so much trust in his expression, as if it was in their power to make him better. On the other hand, she doubted their abilities to do that. And then she thought there might be a way to compromise. "Collins is right. I don't think we're the right people to help you, Roger-"

"You're my friends!"

"Please let me finish." He looked down and murmured a quick apology. "Personally I don't think we should go for it, but if this is what you think best for you, maybe we should give it a shot. _But_ you'll have to promise that if we feel it's not working, we'll try rehab." There was dead silence around the table. From the corner of her eye she saw Collins nodding his agreement. It was the best she could do, under the circumstances. But she'd have to say something to Mark later about speaking out for the two of them without even hearing her opinion. She looked at Roger. "Take it or leave it, Roger."

"If it doesn't work… we'll try rehab," he said very slowly, as if still considering this.

"Promise?" she asked. She felt bad to press him to the corner like that, but under the circumstances she knew there was no other way. He had to make up his mind, as long as he was able to do so.

"Yeah. I promise."

He never kept his promise. And it was the beginning of the end.


	14. Will Someone Care?

**13- Will Someone Care?**

It was summer again. It was amazing how time flew by, how quickly the seasons shifted, she thought as she made her way home. The whole mess with Roger started just one year ago. It was one hell of a year to all of them. She sighed, kicking an empty bottle of bear that stood on her way. Three months. He was three months into withdrawal. _They_ were three months into withdrawal. It was hell; worse than anything she ever experienced in her life, and she wasn't even allowed to have any contact with Roger. Mark was persistent about that. He didn't want Roger to hurt her too, he said. He was getting more violent as they got along, she knew. She could tell by Mark's bruises. But even if it was Mark who spent all his time with Roger in that room, sometimes listening was enough. She spent so many sleepless nights out on the fire escape, hoping it would make his moans and cries less audible. It never did.

Benny got married in the middle of June. None of them showed up to the wedding. Mark had to stay with Roger, and she didn't want to go alone. She didn't think she should, too. Benny was Mark's friend from college, not hers. She never got along with him anyway. Benny seemed to understand their reasons, when she called to tell him they wouldn't be able to make it. He didn't sound offended; he actually sounded kind of relieved. She knew she was supposed to be at least a little hurt by his reaction, but she really wasn't. She didn't care. He got what he wanted; he married the girl and her money. At least one of them was happy. A month or so after the wedding, she read in the Village Voice that his new father-in-law bought couple of buildings in their block, their building included. When Benny called to personally inform them with this, he said he'd take care of their rent for a while, because things were bad enough for them as it was, with taking care of Roger. In what sounded like a rare moment of care and generosity, he also told her not to hesitate to contact him if they needed anything else. He promised he'd call within a week to ask how things were going. He never did.

Collins called at least once a week to check out on them. She felt like killing Mark whenever she heard him say in his most cheerful tone that they were doing fine, that Roger was improving and that Collins had absolutely nothing to worry about. She wondered if Collins bought it. He probably didn't, but it's not like he could do something about it. So often she wanted to grab that phone before Mark got to it and scream at Collins to get his ass over there on the first train. She never did.

Mark was a whole different person now. He spent every waking hour at Roger's side; even when he didn't have to be there. He suffered Roger's violence silently, never hitting back, probably because he realized how useless it would be, since Roger was so much stronger. He became more aggressive as time passed. His door remained locked during the night, and once or twice she found Mark dozing off on the floor, on the other side of it. She knew what he was trying to do. She knew he felt so guilty for not noticing everything when it started; he was probably trying to make up for it now. Ironically, the very thing that threatened to ruin their friendship before turned up to be just what eventually made their bond stronger. The problem was that it became the only thing on Mark's mind. Everything else, his work, his camera, her, didn't seem to matter anymore. Sure, he wasn't aware of that, but even though he didn't do it intentionally, it still hurt. She felt so damn lonely. She just wanted him to notice her. She needed him to be there for her too, now more than ever. She needed him to hold her when she slept, to tell her that everything would be fine, even if he didn't really mean it. He never did.

Work became her only refuge, but even that didn't last long. Roxanne left the month before. She found a better job uptown. It made her even sadder, not only because Roxanne wasn't around anymore, but also because it reminded her that her own job there was supposed to be temporary. It's been over a year, and she was still there. So it was down to her and Steven, who always knew how to make her laugh, except that recently he got himself a girlfriend, on whom he couldn't stop talking. She wondered if this was how she acted when she and Mark first got together. She hoped she didn't, because it was annoying the hell out of her. Sometimes she felt like shaking Steven. She just wished he'd shut up about it.

She was out a lot. Being in the loft became unbearable. Besides, no one seemed to notice she wasn't around. She probably knew all the bars in the Village area by now, spending each night at a different place. She just sat there by the bar with her drink, thinking of nothing in particular. It was so easy to be tempted by all those handsome guys who frequently walked over to her and suggested to buy her a drink, but she never allowed herself to fall into temptations like that. She always turned them down. She kind of felt proud of herself for being able to resist them, although it didn't really matter. Even if she would have shown up at the loft the day afterwards smelling of another man's aftershave, it was most likely that Mark wouldn't even notice. She didn't feel like going out tonight though. She could use some sleep.

A drumming sound shook her out of her reverie. On the pavement across the street, a boy was sitting and drumming on what looked like a big bucket. Well, not a boy, exactly. He looked her age, maybe couple of years younger, definitely not a boy anymore. But she kind of felt like she was a hundred years old, so everyone looked young in her eyes now. All around him, the passers-by didn't notice him, but he didn't seem to care. He seemed taken by his own music. His eyes were closed in concentration, his head moving slightly at the sounds, the movements of his hands sharp and passionate. He was so into it. She had to smile. And then she realized it was her first smile in months. And this boy she never seen before in her life was responsible for it. She reached for her pocket. She wished she had more than what she found there, but this would have to do. She crossed the street and walked over to him. He stopped playing as she placed the money in a hat that laid on the pavement next to him.

"Thank you," he smiled, looking up at her.

"Thank _you_," she said, returning his smile.

"I'm not sure what I did, but you're welcome." He looked at her more closely, and his smile faded. Now he looked concerned. "Hey, you okay, honey?"

"I'm afraid so," she smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, I have to… I'll see you around, I guess."

"You probably will," the boy said. "Keep that smile on."

"Yeah. I'll try."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her. She reached for another towel and dried her hair with it. The apartment was quiet, but she knew the guys were home because Mark's bike were there, against the wall by the door. She shrugged, closing the bedroom door behind her. She really didn't care anymore. Emptiness and exhaustion filled her to the core. She just wanted to crawl into bed and spend the next five years or so sleeping.

The door opened when she brushed her hair in front of the mirror. She looked up to see Mark walk into the room. He stopped on the threshold, looking a bit surprised to find her there. She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes widened slightly at the fact she had nothing but that towel on. Well, at least something managed to catch his attention.

"Hi," he said quietly as he walked in and closed the door.

She put her hair-brush down. "Hey."

"You just got back?"

"A while ago."

He looked tired. She didn't pity him though. It was his problem he didn't want her help in all that. She could have made it easier for him. "Roger's asleep, so I thought I'd take a shower," he said, answering her silent wondering as for what he was doing out of Roger's room.

She nodded and stood up, walking towards the dresser. After she found a new nightshirt, she turned to face him again, and caught him staring at her. She gave him a look. "What?"

He smiled sheepishly. "You're beautiful," he replied softly.

"Thanks," she said, her tone dry and indifferent. He didn't really mean it. Okay, maybe he did, but not in his usual Mark-like way. He had that lustful expression. It was what any normal, straight man would have done if a minimally dressed woman was standing there in front of him. She hated him for it.

He walked over to her and caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes. It was so easy to fall for that touch, but she didn't let herself do that. If anything, it made her even angrier. He didn't even look at her for the past three months and now, when it suited his needs, he suddenly remembered her existence? "I miss you."

"I miss you too," she heard herself echo back in spite of her initial intention not to give in. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. That hateful masculine lust was still there, but there were some other things there now, too, stronger than that, as if he suddenly realized there were other things that mattered except for being there of his best friend through withdrawal. For a moment he seemed to be more like his old self again, and she felt her resistance slipping away as well. "Stay with me tonight," she whispered into his ear, her tone low, seductive, pleading.

He looked away, as if trying to resist her. "Maureen-"

She touched his face, making him face her. "Don't try to fight this. I need it. I know you need it too." She slipped her hands under his T-shirt, running them up and down his middle. Then she let them drift down, her fingers feeling for the top button of his jeans. She stopped there, her gaze locking with his. "I don't wanna be alone tonight."

He said nothing, but then after a moment he leaned towards her, and placed a soft kiss on her neck. She closed her eyes when his lips grazed her skin a second time, and a third, and then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer as his lips crushed against hers in a passionate kiss. It was fierce and urgent and she knew he longed for it just as much as she did. She didn't notice when her towel dropped to the floor. She didn't even know how they got to their bed. Somehow she managed to unbutton his jeans and kick it off with one leg. His shirt was still in her way but he wouldn't let her take it off. She wriggled beneath him as he trailed his kisses from her lips to her chest to her stomach. His hands were everywhere, following the trail his kisses made, touching, caressing, making her moan and cry out his name and beg for more. She really didn't give a damn who'd hear her.

There was a loud banging sound, somewhat muffled as if it was coming from down the hall. Then Roger's voice echoed through the loft, loud and furious. "_Mark_! Open the goddamn door!" More banging sounds. It was as if he threw himself against the door, trying to get it opened.

Mark sat up, panting. "Shit," he breathed, looking at the closed bedroom door as if he could see through it. She sat up as well and pulled the sheets to wrap it around herself. It was kind of silly; it's not like he never saw her naked before. He just did seconds ago. But suddenly it just felt so wrong. It made her feel so exposed. He looked at her apologetically. "I'd better…" his voice trailed off. She looked away, scorning herself for being so damn naïve. Who was she kidding? Nothing has changed. His priorities remained just the same; babying Roger was still on top of everything else. "Maureen-" he laid his hand over hers. She pulled her hand away abruptly.

"I'm fine, go," she said, voice quivering, not even bothering to look at him. She didn't want him to see the tears that stung the corners of her eyes.

"It's just that… he can hurt himself if he'd keep on doing that, and-"

"Mark, that's fine, go, do what you gotta do."

"I'm sorry," he whispered before he hurried out of the room.

She looked at the closed door, slowly releasing the breath she didn't even know she was holding. Then, not even bothering to put on the shirt that was now on the floor, forgotten, she snuggled into the sheets and cried herself to sleep.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The week dragged on with no significant change. She got back home later and later, but no one seemed to care. She grew numb and distant at work, and eventually she decided to follow Roxanne and leave. She didn't worry about the money. She had some savings, she'd be okay for a while, until she'd find something else. Steven tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined. She had enough waitressing for a lifetime. It started to bore the hell out of her. Steven was still trying to convince her to stay on her last day, and she got so tired of him that she found herself avoiding him, serving as many tables as possible to keep herself busy. Now she made her way to the farthest corner of the café, where a woman was hunched over a pile of folders while scribbling something on a yellow notepad. She reached for a steaming mug and sipped it absent-mindedly every now and again. She looked really busy. She hated to disturb her, so she approached her and laid her check on the table as quietly as she could. The woman raised her head as she did. Their eyes met. "Your check," she said quietly.

"Thanks," the stranger replied, looking at her more closely. "Do I know you?"

She did look kind of familiar, but she couldn't quite place her, so she shook her head. "I don't think so, no."

"Because you look so familiar. I'm probably mixing you with someone else."

"Probably."

"Wait a second, I do know you! You're Mr. Johnson's daughter, aren't you?" She nodded. The woman did too. "He has a picture of you in his office. We met before, you probably don't remember. I'm Joanne Jefferson."

It rang a bell. And then she remembered the woman in the beautiful ivory dress at her father's den. "Oh. We met at that party on Christmas."

Joanne smiled. "That's right. Maureen, was it?"

"Yeah." She just stood there for a moment as her gaze shifted towards the papers that filled the small table. "You look busy, I don't wanna-"

"Oh no, that's fine. I'm just going over my closing for tomorrow's trial."

The last time they met, she was just an intern. It was really sad to think that Joanne was an actual lawyer by now, whereas she was living in New York for almost two years, and still a waitress. Well, not for long, she told herself.

"Do you want to, maybe…" Joanne started, nodding towards an empty seat next to her.

It took her by surprise. She glanced at her watch. It was almost the end of her shift, thank God. Her _last_ shift, she reminded herself. "I'm off in a couple of minutes, so…" her voice trailed off. Joanne looked kind of disappointed, although it wasn't an actual refusal. Before she could think better of it, she heard herself say, "I thought to stop by for a drink before I'd head home. You can join me if you want. Unless you don't drink while you're working on a case, or… something."

Joanne laughed softly. "I'd love to join you. I'll be here, let me know when you're ready to go."

They went to a bar not far away from the Life. Joanne did most of the talking on the way, telling her a bit about the work in their fathers' firm. Whereas the main firm was in Jersey under her father's supervising, they opened a smaller one in New York City, where Joanne was working side by side with her own father. As if assuming she wanted to hear about her family, Joanne told her how her father and Anthony were doing. She listened silently, her mind elsewhere. She could care less. She was still somewhat hesitant as for why she asked Joanne to join her. Was she that desperate for company and attention? Joanne did look nice, but she was practically a stranger. She decided to drop her hesitations for now though. What's done was done.

"So if I remember correctly, you were supposed to be a great actress by now, weren't you?" Joanne asked lightly as a waitress laid their drinks in front of them and vanished. Her question didn't sound blunt or sarcastic, but it hurt all the same. It made her feel so useless.

"I'm working on it," she said, taking a sip of her martini. Joanne watched her as she did. There was something extremely see-through in that look, as if she could read everything that was on her mind, making her feel uncomfortable and somewhat vulnerable. She wondered if it was a lawyer-kind of thing.

"You know…" Joanne said slowly. "There's one thing that is worse than a woman drinking alone."

It took her a moment to figure the right answer, but then it hit her and she smiled bitterly. "Two women drinking alone," she half said, half asked.

Joanne nodded. They shared a sad smile. There was another short silence. Joanne gave her that look again. "It's probably none of my business, but… do you wanna talk about this?"

"About what?"

"The thing that distracts you."

"It's nothing, I'm just having a really lousy day. Or a week. Or a year." She sighed. She hardly touched her drink, but she felt extremely light-headed already.

"Problems with your boyfriend?"

She wondered if it was something in her tone that gave her away so quickly. "Something like that, yeah."

Joanne nodded. "I just broke up with someone, so I know how that feels."

"Oh, we didn't break up. We're just… not in the best time of our relationship right now, that's all." It wasn't like her, to make such confessions, or talk about things she always felt that were so much bigger than her, like relationships. She blamed it on the alcohol.

"Yeah, that sounds familiar. This is why I told Meredith that it would be best to cut it off."

"Meredith? Isn't it a girl's na-" she stopped herself mid-sentence as realization hit her, and then she felt like crawling into a hole and die. She looked carefully at Joanne, who didn't seem the least offended. She knew she was blushing; she could feel it. Damn it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Joanne shook her head slightly. Something in that motion implied that she was used to it. "Nah, that's okay. I guess it makes us even after what I said about your parents' party that night."

She laughed nervously. "I guess." She couldn't believe she let such a thing slip. So Joanne was a lesbian; it wasn't a big deal. This was who she was. It was great that she was so open about it.

Luckily, it managed to break the ice, and they spent the next couple of hours talking. She couldn't believe how easy it was to open up to someone she didn't know. Of course, she still didn't tell Joanne everything about Roger's withdrawal or Collins' AIDS, but it was a start. When they paid the check, it felt as if she made herself a new friend.

"I'm sure everything will work out with your boyfriend," Joanne said as they stepped outside. It was really late and suddenly she felt really guilty that she kept Joanne up while she had a big day at court tomorrow, but Joanne didn't seem to care about that. She took something out of her briefcase, and handed it to her. It was a small card with her name and phone number on it. "If you ever feel like talking… I live uptown, so we could…"

She took the care and smiled. "Yeah, that'll be great." She could tell that Joanne was a good listener. And she missed it terribly right now, when Collins was away. Maybe this was what she needed, someone who'd listen to her. Someone who'd care.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Where were you?"

She turned, startled, at the sound of his voice. It was nearly 4am by the time she got back to the loft. She wasn't expecting to find him awake, but there he was, getting up from the couch and approaching her. "I was out."

"Yeah, I figured as much," said Mark, his tone cold, his expression serious. She didn't flinch against those. She didn't buy his sudden concern. "It's 4am."

"Yeah, I know. What are you doing up so late?"

He looked at her as if she was crazy. "I was waiting for you to come home."

"Why?"

"_Why_?" he echoed, giving her an incredulous look. "Maureen, it's fuckin' 4am and you finished your shift hours ago! I was worried sick about you!"

"Well, thanks for suddenly taking interest in me, but you didn't have to. I'm fine. I'm gonna go to bed now," she said. She was about to walk passed him when he stopped her, grabbing her wrist. She looked up, surprised by the force he used.

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"What? Let me go," she said, shaking her arm free.

"Suddenly taking interest in you?" he repeated her words, looking horrified. "What makes you even say-"

"Oh, let's see. Maybe the fact you were completely ignoring my existence for the past three months?" she interjected. She was tired and desperate and frustrated.

Mark looked offended. "I wasn't ignoring your existence, I was-"

"Mark, let's cut the crap, shall we? You don't care. You've got more important things on your mind right now, that's understandable. Really, I understand. But save me this 'I was worried because you should have been home hours ago' shit. Hypocrisy doesn't suit you."

He looked stunned to hear all that. "I don't care? How can you say that?"

"How can I say that? Maybe regarding the fact I was hardly here in the past three months and you didn't even notice? No, Mark, you don't care. You don't care where I'm going after work, you don't care when I come back home, _if_ I bother to come back, you don't even care if I sleep around!"

He watched her for a moment, as if to check if she really meant this last thing she said. Eventually he shook his head and said, "Maureen, this is nonsense."

"Is it? How would you know? Don't you think I would have done it if I felt like it? Because believe me, I could. I had enough opportunities." She didn't even know what made her say that. She never cheated on him. Maybe she thought that if she'd imply she was sleeping around, he'd come back to his senses.

Mark made one step towards her. She stepped back. "I know you're not sleeping around," he said slowly, his tone softening. Even though he tried to look as if he meant it, his voice carried the slightest hint of doubt now. "I trust you. Is that such a bad thing?"

Although it should have made her happy, it pissed the hell out of her. "Yeah, it is!" she blurted out without thinking.

"Maureen, I love you, why would I think that you-"

"You can't solve everything by saying this every time, Mark, it doesn't work that way!" she yelled at him.

Now he looked hurt, and slightly confused. "So, what, you _want_ me to be jealous?"

"Maybe I do! Maybe I wanna make you insanely jealous! Maybe I think it's gonna be the thing that will get you out of that damn room and force you to look around!"

"That's what this is all about?" he asked, giving her an incredulous look. Then he sighed, as if he understood her answer without her having to use words for it. "You know what, I think you're the one who's jealous," he said kind of coldly.

She snorted, momentarily speechless, and yet she couldn't help but wondering if he was right. "I hate you," she whispered, turning away.

"Maureen, wait-"

She didn't look back. She went to their bedroom, closed the door and collapsed against it. She rested her head against her knees and waited for the tears to come, but they didn't. She stayed still, asking herself if he'd follow her there, if he'd apologize, if he'd insist to come in and then take her in his arms and whisper in her ear that everything would be better from now on, if he'd say all those things about trust and love again, only this time he'd mean them.

He never did.


	15. See What I Wanna See

**A/N- for those of you who are still following this, so sorry for the delay. My excuse is good enough, though- I spent the last week in London, where I got to see Wicked and meet Idina Menzel! I still need some time to digest everything that's happened but it's been an incredible week. So this is why I haven't posted anything… until now. Here's the next chapter, hope you'll like it. Reviews will make me super-happy, but you should know that already, shouldn't you…?**

**14- See What I Wanna See**

"…really doable. I don't think we even need to get a warrant or anything, the place is a dump. No one can seriously live here."

"I must say that you have a good eye-perception. This place fits us perfectly. We can probably start clearing up the building after New Years. It may take a while to get all the necessary paperwork done."

She froze dead on her tracks when she heard the traces of conversation coming from the lot, her current performance space. She just passed there on her way to the subway so she decided to stop by before she'd head uptown, as she still had some flyers left to hang. Now she was glad that she did. She recognized one of the voices as Benny's. He was talking to another man that sounded as exuberant as he did. What she had just heard made her jaw drop to the floor. The consequences of it dawned on her in an instant. They couldn't possibly…

She walked in, getting more furious with each step she made. The two turned to look at her, slightly surprised, as she strode inside. "What the hell is going on here?" she asked, her voice echoing in the deserted space. One homeless, who seemed to be asleep in a corner, protested against this sudden interruption.

Benny had that guilty look, like the one he had when she once caught him flirting with a woman in a bar while his then-fiancée was at home. Now he said something to the other man and walked over to her. "Maureen, what are you doing here?"

"I came to put those flyers around, for my performance on Saturday," she said, thanking God that she didn't have time to hang all of them yet. They provided her a good alibi. Not that she needed one, but still. "What are _you_ doing here, Coffin?"

"Look… it's not what you think," he said lamely.

"Oh, really? Enlighten me then."

"This man over there is Ned Gray. He's Allison's father. He just bought some old buildings around the block. He's a real genius in his field. He has some incredible ideas planned for those places. Now he wanted to buy this place as an investment for me… so I'll be able to build a cyber studio. Late wedding present," he added, scratching his goatee, as he always did when he was nervous.

"So you just buy buildings as if it was fuckin' Monopoly? People live here, Benny, people who don't have anywhere else to go!"

His face remained expressionless. "They don't officially own the place," he said matter-of-factly.

"And that gives you the right to just kick them out?"

"Well, actually it does." Then he gave her a look and snatched one flyer from her hand. He observed it for a second and then looked up at her, his expression almost mocking her. She felt like punching him. "This is not about those homeless people at all, is it? This is about you, as always."

She shot him a nasty glare. "Excuse me?"

"What do you care about some people you don't even know? But I bet you care a great deal about not having a place where you can show off and make some more drooling men adore you."

She looked at him through narrow eyes. She knew he didn't mean half of it, that he was one of those drooling men himself, and still, in a way, it did hurt. And she wanted to hurt him just the same. Oh, she _would _hurt him. When he wouldn't even notice. She heard Allison's father say something about New Years, and since it was October, it left her enough time to plan her next move. "You won't get away with this."

"Don't give me those empty threats and useless warnings, Johnson. There's nothing you can do to stop us."

"Watch me," she said and turned to leave.

His laughter echoed through the building, leading her way out.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Her heels clang against the sidewalk as she hurried down the street. She was so late, she knew, but then again, she was always late. She snuggled deeper into her jacket in a hopeless attempt to block the chill. The wind was slowly caressing her face as she walked against it, sending the anger away. She could feel her mind getting in gear. First she must let the guys know about all that. Then she'd have to think of a way to protest against the clearing of the lot. A protest. Yeah. That was good. Around Christmas maybe. It had to be something big to get people's attention, but not too flashy or exaggerated to make it accessible to as many people as possible. A small, satisfied smile curled on her lips. That jerk Benny had _no_ idea what- whom- he was up against. He had no chance.

She crossed the street. He really managed to get to her this time. She hated it when people assumed things that weren't true. Sure, her wish for revenge was mostly selfish, but it wasn't just that. Really, it wasn't. That lot was all those people had, and now Benny and his father-in-law wanted to take that from them. It was so insensitive, as if they weren't even people, as if they were just a bunch of cows or somethi- Hmm. Cows. Maybe she'd use _that_ for her protest.

A wave of comfortable heat washed over her when she pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the restaurant and stepped in. She refused the waitress' guidance with a small, polite smile. She knew her way. They always chose to sit at the same table, at the far end of the restaurant, near a window. She looked up as she made her way there. Joanne was sitting with her back to the entrance, sipping water from a tall glass.

She smiled at the image that Joanne made by just sitting there, a hint of calmness in the midst of the city's haste, which was kind of surprising considering the fact that Joanne wasn't the calmest person, to say the least. Things weren't so great at home, to say the least, so she was spending most of her time with Joanne now. They knew each other for a bit over two months now. They didn't seem to have a lot in common. At least not right away. But eventually, as they started to really open up to one another, they found out that they both shared love for Italian food, Cherry Garcia ice-cream and old, classic movies. And Joanne made her laugh. She could be really funny if she just let herself loosen up a bit. Once she shaded her lawyer attitude she was a really great person to hang out with. She found herself telling Joanne a lot, much more than she ever told anyone else, not even Mark or Collins. She told her the truth behind her picture-perfect family, about her new family in the East Village. Joanne told her about her own family, about her relationship with her father, whom she obviously adored, about her mother's resentment for her being a lesbian and how she always tried to hide her discontent, although not successfully. It was great to have a girl for company, after spending so much time just with the guys. There were things that you just couldn't tell them, because they'd never understand you whatsoever.

They talked about Mark a lot. After that fight they had in the summer, he was making efforts to spend time with her when she was home (which wasn't a lot); he even took over himself to be her production manager and helped her with all the technical stuff before her performances, but she kept her distance. This wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want him to be with her because he felt obliged to do so. She didn't want him to be distracted with thoughts of what Roger was doing while he was out of that damn room, helping her. She wanted to have him for herself. She didn't want to share him with Roger. Joanne said very little when they talked about Mark, as if she assumed she just needed to let things out. Who knew, maybe this _was_ what she needed. She didn't feel better after her long monologues though. She felt old and bitter, two things that were never associated with her personality, or so she wanted to believe. And she knew she was probably boring Joanne to death with it, which didn't seem fair. Each time she went to meet Joanne she told herself that this time, she wouldn't talk about it, but then each time something would always come up and remind her of him, of them. And she found herself talking about it all over again.

She wouldn't talk about it today. She had a lot on her mind as it was, thanks to Benny. Ugh. She forced herself not to think about it, or at least to calm down. "I'm here," she said, flopping herself dramatically on the seat across from Joanne.

"And late as usual," Joanne said smiling.

"I'm trying not to break old habits. If I came on time you would have thought something was wrong." Joanne smiled. She snatched the menu from the table. "So what are we having? I'm starving!"

They gave a waitress their orders, and then Joanne told her a bit about how her day has been so far. She was in-between cases, so things were quite calm. She hated it when Joanne was swamped with work; they always had to cut their meetings to half an hour so that Joanne would be able to get back to her office on time. But today she had a bit more than that. Maybe she'd drag Joanne for some ice-cream later, she thought with a smile.

"So what's up with you?" Joanne asked, expertly rolling pasta around her fork. "How is that performance getting along?"

She frowned. "You wouldn't _believe_ what that jerk is planning to do!"

Joanne looked confused. "Who?"

"On my way here I stopped at the lot to put some more flyers around, and I bumped into Benny, the yuppie-scum."

"Your ex-roommate, the one in the real-estate business?"

"Exactly. It turns out he plans to buy the building and make a cyber studio out of it!" she fumed. "I mean, is it even legal? People are living there, and they think that because they've got money they can just come up there and kick those poor homeless out-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, I think I lost you," Joanne cut her off gently, raising her arm.

She smiled sheepishly. Yeah, she used to do that when she was really angry. She had to work on that. "Sorry."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Benny and his father-in-law. I heard them talking. If he thinks he got away with it, he's wrong. Very, _very_ wrong. I'm gonna stop them."

"How are you planning to do that?" Joanne asked, trying to make her skeptic expression less obvious.

"I'll make people open their eyes against social injustices," she stated simply.

A shadow of a smile appeared across Joanne's face, but it vanished just as quickly, before she had a chance to question it. "Again, how are you planning to do that?"

She sipped her diet coke. "A protest. A huge one. People won't have a choice but listen. Cyber studio my ass."

Joanne said nothing, but she had that smile again, the one she thought she saw before. This time, she chose to pretend she didn't notice it.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She walked Joanne home. They talked some more on the way, hands stuffed in their pockets against the chill. As they always did when they met at the end of Joanne's working day, they stopped in front of Joanne's apartment building. It was so much nicer than their old, shabby loft. They even had a doorman on the entrance. She could bet the heat was on all year long there. She was up twice, and both times she was so careful not to break anything.

"So, lunch tomorrow will be okay?"

Joanne shook her head. "Better make it dinner. I have a busy day tomorrow, I could probably get off around 6."

She smiled. "Alright. Just give me a call."

"I will," Joanne said, moving closer. "Good night." She knew what was coming next. Their meetings always ended up the same way, with her walking Joanne home and with Joanne kissing her cheek right before she disappeared into her building. It always left her pondering all the way back home, that seemingly innocent kiss. It always made her slightly uncomfortable, and too aware of the fact that Joanne was a lesbian. She wondered if Joanne tried to tell her something through that, but then she always dismissed it, telling herself she was being silly for making such a big deal out of it. This was what friends did; it didn't necessarily have any hidden meaning just because Joanne liked women. It could be just purely platonic.

Only what if it wasn't…?

This was where she always forced herself to stop and get a grip, telling herself she was just being light-headed because of some alcohol or another they had with their dinner, and that she must stop those silly, dangerous thoughts that were running through her mind, unleashed. But now Joanne was moving closer and closer, those full lips parting slightly as she was about to lay that small kiss on her cheek, and she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she'd just…

She did the slightest movement with her head, which was almost unnoticeable and yet extremely accurate, and Joanne's lips found hers. For a second, time seemed to stop still. She could tell it caught Joanne by surprise, but she didn't back away. Instead, she laid one hand on her cheek and deepened the kiss.

It was different than kissing a guy, she thought as their lips caressed one another's, slowly and hesitantly. It felt softer, better, in a way. The scent of Joanne's perfume, which she couldn't quite identify, surrounded her in its flowery presence, making her head reel. Joanne's hand was still against her cheek, and she was caressing her face with her fingers as their kiss became more fervent.

Fire. It was almost possible to feel the electricity in the chilly night's air. She wasn't cold anymore. It was as if a wave of heat was spreading through her, making her insides melt. She let out a moan she couldn't hold back. It made Joanne smile against her lips, and she slowly broke the kiss, gently sucking on her lower lip right before they parted. Their gazes locked as they did. They just stared at one another, trying to regain their breaths. Few were the things that managed to keep her speechless. What had just happened was definitely one of them. And yet, words seemed to be unnecessary. She could read everything in Joanne's expression, and knew it was probably reflecting her own. Her eyes looked clouded and dreamy, but there was this unmistakenable confusion there as well.

A small, sheepish smile found its way to her lips. "Good night," she whispered, ran a hand along Joanne's cheek, and went off, wondering what the hell had just happened there.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She climbed out to the fire escape. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't do anything but go back in her mind to that second, that moment when she kissed Joanne. _She_ kissed a girl. She smirked. She hadn't thought she'd ever do something like that, maybe unless she was reasonably drunk. Sure, she was spontaneous, always open to new experiences and all that, but this was like a whole different area she never had a chance to explore. She just never thought of herself as a lesbian before. And why would she? She liked men, and they liked her back, whether they were single or married or, at some cases, gay.

_Was_ she a lesbian? She could think of at least five men she would have spent a night with, if only she would be given a chance, but women? She never even thought of herself in such a situation before. True, she was hit on by women before, and sometimes she even let herself flirt back for the entertainment of it, but she was never attracted to any of them. And then Joanne walked into her life, in her expensive Donna Karen suits and stylish stilettos, and everything she came to believe in just shattered in her face as a result of that one single kiss. Was she living in a lie all along? It was a horrible question to ask, she thought, shivering slightly. Because, if she _was_ living in a lie… then what was the truth? Who the hell was she?

No, this was silly, she decided, leaning against the rail. It was just a small, _meaningless_ kiss. One of those stupid mistakes you noticed only after you made them, and then buried it deep down inside and tried to forget you made it. Meaningless, that's what this kiss was.

Only what if it wasn't…?

As an aspiring actress, she was a master in pretending, but she had to be honest with herself. She couldn't lie to herself. She was attracted to Joanne in a weird, insensible way and it scared her. Very few things managed to scare her in her 20-something years of existence, and this was definitely one of them. She had a crush on a girl. Not just a girl, but _Joanne_. Ugh. It even _sounded_ ridiculous.

And what about Mark, asked a voice from somewhere deep in her heart. She sighed. Mark. The first guy who taught her what love really meant. Her first solid, long-termed relationship. She loved Mark. She knew that a part of her would love him forever. But she had to face reality, no matter how sad or painful it was. There was no Mark and her for months now. It was over. It felt as if their relationship died along with April and they just didn't see it. Or saw what they wanted to.

So what was she going to do? God, she wished Collins was there. But then she thought it might have been for the best that he wasn't. She had to handle this mess on her own. She had to figure out what she wanted, no matter how scary the consequences would turn out to be.

Someone laid something on her shoulders. She gasped, startled, and turned, and suddenly Mark was there next to her, looking a bit worried. "I didn't want you to catch a cold," he said softly, nodding towards the jacket he had just placed on her shoulders.

She nodded, and quickly looked away, as if she feared he'd give one look at her and know what happened. "Thanks."

"Are you coming to bed?" he asked, his voice a bit hesitant. He knew she was still mad at him. She never tried to hide it, nor did he ever make an attempt to apologize.

"Not yet," she replied, not meeting his eyes.

"Okay." There was a long pause. Then suddenly out of nowhere she remembered she still hadn't told him about the Benny thing, but decided to do that some other time. Maybe tomorrow. She was too distracted at the moment. As her gaze was still fixated on the buildings across the street, she thought Mark was gone. This was why she was startled when he spoke again, his voice soft and pleading and almost heart-breaking. "Maureen, what's wrong?"

It's over. It's been over for a while, we just never accepted it. We tried to hold on to this image of the perfect couple everyone tried to stick to us, but this image is no longer there. Can't you see that, Mark? But she never said all that aloud. She closed her eyes, hoping it would make the truth less striking. "Nothing's wrong," she lied. Her eyes could hardly meet his. Even so, he didn't seem to buy that.

"I wish you just told me what's on your mind," he said quietly, half to her, half to himself, before he climbed into the loft again.

If only _she_ knew what was on her mind, she thought bitterly. She stood there for a while, just watching the stars in the cloudless sky. The street was unusually quiet, making her feel empty and alone. Well, she didn't have to be alone. If she'd only make the right choice. She sighed. What was the right choice?

Maybe if she'd just call Joanne, she'd realize how meaningless her worries were, as if she needed Joanne's approval as for how silly this whole thing was. She entered the loft just to grab the phone, and then went back to the fire escape. The last thing she needed was to have someone to listen to her conversation with a woman she had a crush on. Ugh. Stupid, stupid, stu-

"Hello?"

Her reverie was cut short when Joanne answered the call. For a slight second, she wondered if it would be better to just hang up and leave it, but it was as if her hand was glued to the receiver. Joanne's voice sounded deeper on the phone; sexy, like velvet. She shivered involuntarily, feeling a slight weakness in her knees. She had to sit down. "Joanne?"

"Maureen," Joanne said, her tone carrying an obvious hint of surprise. Then she let out what sounded like a soft laughter. "I didn't think I'd hear from you so soon."

She chose to ignore that. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Why? It's almost 2am."

"I couldn't sleep."

She sighed, leaning back on the metal bars. "Me neither." They didn't say anything for a while. Damn it, this was difficult. Maybe she should explain why she called so late. Or at least, try to explain. "I… wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier," she said, trying to sound indifferent. She wouldn't let Joanne guess it was bothering her. It _wasn't_ bothering her. She just… wanted to clear things out.

"What about it?" Joanne asked, her tone light and casual. It felt as if she was making it difficult on purpose.

"It's just…" her voice trailed off when she realized she wasn't sure what she wanted to say. Was she going to apologize? Or maybe confess it was definitely one of the most amazing kisses she ever had? She sighed, and laughed nervously. Laying her drama queen attitude aside for a moment, she decided just to be honest, and see where it would get her. "I've never done this before."

"It sure didn't feel like it," Joanne replied gently, making her blush. "Look, maybe I should just apologize or… something. This isn't your thing and I knew that. Makes me feel like I took advantage on you or something."

"You have nothing to apologize for; I'm the one who started it."

"And I still wonder why." She had the feeling that they would never have talked about this if they were face to face. Maybe it was good that she called. "Look, Maureen, the truth is… that I like you. I like you a lot. But I don't want you to feel compelled to like me back just because of that kiss. We can just move on as if it never happened. Just say the word."

"But I don't wanna move on," she heard herself say as thoughts transformed into words, too fast for her to stop it.

"So what is it that you want?" asked Joanne, her voice nearly a whisper.

"I think…" she started slowly, carefully choosing her words. "It's you."

There was a soft intake of breath on the other side. "Honey, what are you saying?"

Honey. It made her smile. "I'm saying that I like you too. And I wanna be with you."

"But you've got Mark."

She shook her head sadly, as if Joanne was there to see that. "No, I don't. I didn't have Mark for a long time. I just didn't realize it."

There was a pause. She assumed Joanne needed a moment to take all this in. "Maureen?" she asked after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Will you… get over here?"

She smiled, feeling new confidence. "I'm on my way."

Suddenly there was nowhere else she wanted to be in.


	16. Goodbye, Love

**A/N- here's another one, you guys. Today's chapter is dedicated to Beth- _happy birthday_! Thanks to those of you who read and reviewed the last chapter, in spite of the problem the site had with its alerts. Just thought I'd let you know that from now on, updates are gonna be less frequent. Sorry about that, guys, but I'm not even a week into this new semester and things are hectic already. I promise to update as soon as I can, so just stay tuned. **

**Now read on. _Another_ NYTW reference is hidden in there- I just love this workshop thingie. It's so… well, weird. _Please review!_**

**15- Goodbye, Love**

She woke up to the sound of rain drops tapping against the window. She just laid still for a moment, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. This was definitely not her bedroom. Everything was neat and organized, well, except for some clothes that were scattered all over the floor. She recognized some of them as her own. A sound of streaming water came from the bathroom. Although it was raining outside, she felt all nice and cozy under the covers. It felt soft against her naked body. She snuggled into it, to keep warm.

Of course she remembered where she was. She just couldn't believe she did that. Mind you, she wasn't feeling guilty, not a bit. It was just a little… weird… to think that she had just spent the most incredible night in the arms of another woman.

And then she realized that this other woman was back in the room, wrapped in a towel, and staring at her smiling from the doorway. "I thought I'd have to shake you."

"What time is it?" she asked, sitting up.

"Early. Almost 7:30." _Extremely_ early! And as if Joanne could read her mind, she smiled and shook her head. "I know. But I gotta be at work on 8."

"I should probably get going too," she said quietly, suddenly embarrassed. She hated the mornings after. Everything seemed so damn complicated by the light of day.

Joanne came over and sat at the edge of the bed. She touched her chin. "I had a great time last night," she said softly, honestly.

She nodded. She had to admit that she did, too. But it felt as if everything was happening so fast. Maybe they needed to slow things down, or… something.

She looked up, and her eyes met Joanne's. She leaned forward and laid a small kiss on her lips. It still felt weird. She'd just have to get used to that. "You'll be late."

"Screw work," Joanne murmured before they kissed again, this time more passionately. Hmm. Maybe taking things slow wasn't such a good plan after all.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She closed the door as quietly as she could and, shoes in hand, walked towards the hall on tiptoes. Hopefully, no one was up yet and she could sneak into the bedroom unnoticed, and no one would ever know she didn't spend the night at home.

"Don't bother, Maureen, I'm up," said a voice from behind her.

She jumped, startled, and turned. Mark was sitting at the table, embracing a steaming mug. "Shit, Mark, you scared the hell out of me!" she hissed. She put her shoes on the floor and walked over to him.

"That makes us equal then," he said quite calmly, although his expression suggested otherwise. Shit, shit, shit. He watched her silently as she took a seat across from him. She stole a glance at him. He looked exhausted. "Well, aren't you gonna say something?"

She looked at him carefully. "What do you want me to say?"

"Maybe where the hell have you been all night?"

"At a friend's house."

"_At 2am_?" he fumed. His face turned slightly red. She could tell he was furious.

"It was an emergency. Her boyfriend just left and…" her voice trailed off as she met his eyes. She knew she sounded pathetic.

"Do you really expect me to buy this?"

"Why would I lie? I don't have anything to hide."

"If that's true, why did you bother to walk in her so secretly?"

"Because I didn't want to wake you. Like I should have guessed you'd stay up all night, waiting for me," she said kind of mockingly, but most of it wasn't turned against him, but against herself. She _should_ have guessed.

"Well, I did. I hope that makes you happy, to know that I do care about you," he added dryly. Well, he obviously still remembered that fight they had during the summer.

"I'm sorry, I wanted to leave you a note but I left so quickly, it slipped out of my mind," she lied lightly, doing her best to look innocent. It seemed to have worked, too. At first Mark still looked somewhat suspicious, but then, after a moment, he just let out a heavy sigh, looking at her as if she was a hopeless case.

"Damn it, Maureen, don't do these things. I told myself I'd wait another hour before I'd go down and look for your disfigured body in the dumpsters in the alley across the street."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Mark, don't get so melodramatic."

"Sorry. I forgot it was _your_ field of expertise," he shook his head sadly, and then got up and went out to the fire escape with his mug. She released the breath she didn't even know she was holding before she leaned her head against the table, feeling extremely tired all of a sudden.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Cheating on Mark, sad to say, came naturally. She remembered how difficult it was for her in the past to resist temptations and remain faithful to him, but now was a whole different case. She was head over heels in love, and it felt great, like she'd been asleep all that time, and now she just remembered to live again. It's been couple of weeks since she and Joanne first got together, and so far everything's been amazing. It was almost Thanksgiving. Collins was still away, but he hoped he could come home around Christmas for a while. Roger was still in his room, although Mark bothered to tell her he was getting better and better. She still spent considerable time at Joanne's, but never stayed the night so that Mark wouldn't suspect anything. So far, he didn't.

When Joanne was at work, she spent time working on her protest. She told Mark about Benny's plans and he was as pissed as she expected him to be. There was no point telling Roger, but they called Collins at the MIT and told him. She wandered around clueless for a while, wondering what would be the thing that would work best against Benny's plans. And then, one night, inspiration stroke, and she started writing. She wrote for hours, almost until dawn. She read it to Joanne the next day.

"Well?" she asked when she finished, looking at Joanne expectedly.

Joanne said nothing for a while, but looked as if she was looking for the right words to express what was on her mind. Eventually, she said, very carefully, "Well… I think you'll have to soften it a bit."

_Soften it_? "What part of it?"

Again, Joanne looked somewhat hesitant. "The part about the cow."

"That's practically the whole thing!"

Joanne slowly nodded. "Exactly."

She looked at the carpet, momentarily defeated. Joanne hated it. It was obvious. She hated it and she thought it was crap. It didn't sound like crap when she was working on it; it sounded strong and convincing and… The cows were a damn metaphor! Joanne was supposed to be intelligent, she above all people was supposed to get it! "It's only a rough draft," she said defensively.

"Honey, it's not bad. I'm just saying that if you want people to listen, you must make the content more accessible to them."

"And you don't think blind cows are accessible enough?"

"Well, the part about the cow that gouged her eyes out _is_ pretty scary, you must admit. You don't want it to be scary, do you? You want it to be convincing."

She did have a point. She was somewhat hesitant herself about that part. "I guess."

"Work on it a bit more. You'll get there. You've still got time."

She nodded. An inner voice told her that if it was Mark, he would never have thought it was crap. She glanced at her watch. "I should get going," she said quietly.

"Why don't you stay?"

"Joanne, we've been through this, you know I can't-"

"How long is this going to continue?" Joanne cut her off.

She looked up, surprised. Joanne never did that. Her tone was far from being sweet and understanding. It was that serious, no-nonsense tone which she probably used when she was questioning a defender on the stand. "What do you mean?"

"You, sneaking behind your boyfriend's back, having a secret affair with me." Joanne looked at her seriously, almost accusingly. Oh no. She knew that conversation would pop up sooner or later. Just as she knew she had to tell Mark. "I don't like being the other woman, Maureen. I don't like to hide here instead of going out because you're afraid someone will see us together and go tell Mark. Or maybe…" she stopped just to give her a meaningful look. "Maybe you're ashamed to be seen with me."

She couldn't believe her ears. She stared at Joanne. "_What_? How can you say that?"

"I didn't mean me specifically, I meant women in general. Maybe you don't want to ruin that heart-breaker image you've worked so hard to achieve."

"That's not true!" Although some of her thought otherwise.

"Then what is your problem? And don't tell me you need time, I gave you plenty of that." She sighed. "Maureen, I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore. Either you're with him or you're with me, but you can't have both. Make up your mind."

She knew Joanne was right. She couldn't delay it any longer. Mark had to know. "You're right," she whispered. "I'll tell him."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

"Good," Joanne said, her voice softening, as she leaned forward to kiss her. She returned her kiss, distracted. All she kept seeing in front of her was Mark's broken expression once he'd find out the truth.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She walked home slowly, taking her time. She knew she should probably just get it over with, but she couldn't bring herself to go faster. Her mind was racing. She tried to think what she'd say, how she'd tell him. Her feelings hadn't changed. It was over long time ago and she knew it, but she was with him for over a year. It wasn't going to be simple.

She hoped to get into their bedroom uninterrupted, but there he was, sitting in the living room, and got up when she walked in as if he was waiting for her. And then as he approached, she noticed he was smiling. He wasn't smiling for a long time. She almost forgot how adorable he looked when he did.

"Good, you're home," he said, taking her hands in his. Caught off-guard, she let him lead her to the couch. Something was going on, she just wasn't sure what it was. When they sat down, Mark turned and took something from behind a stuffed pillow. Then he turned to face her again, handing her a single, perfect red rose. She took it silently, giving him a questioning look. He smiled sheepishly. "I've been a jerk. And I've been thinking about what you said, and you were right. I wasn't here for you when I should have been. But everything's gonna be okay now. Roger is better, he really is!" His eyes were shining. "I got him out of the apartment today, we went to the park…" his voice trailed off as he probably realized he was rambling. He took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. "I'm trying to say that I'm sorry. I know it's impossible to turn back time, but maybe we could start over or…" his voice trailed off again when she shook her head. She felt so bad to break his hopeful wish like that, but she knew it would be wrong to lead him on. The hand that was squeezing hers slowly let go. He just watched her now, waiting for her explanation.

"Mark, there's something you should know," she started slowly. By the look on his face, she knew he already realized where she was going with this. He shook his head just when she said, "There's someone else."

"No."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking away.

He just stared at her for a moment, then whispered, "What are you saying?"

She turned to face him again. His eyes looked amazingly blue, almost transparent. And then she realized it was tears. "I'm saying… that it's over. It's been over for a while."

"No. Maureen, please don't say that. We can work things out, we can-"

"We can't pretend there's something there when there's nothing."

"_Nothing_? I love you!"

"I love you too, baby," she said softly, touching his cheek. He backed away. "But it's just not the same anymore." He looked as if he was about to cry. For a moment she thought she should just drop it, but she knew how wrong it would be. "Look, do you remember that talk we had when it first started? I was scared and you said you didn't care if it'd last a week or a month, as long as we had it? Remember?"

"Yeah, but that was-"

"Over a year ago. I've never believed we'd last so long, but we did."

"Where did we go wrong?"

"You know where."

He looked away. There was a pause. The hard part was still ahead of her. She still had to break the thing about Joanne to him. When he turned to look at her again, she knew it was going to be his next question. "You said there was someone else."

She nodded. "There is."

"How long?"

"Couple of weeks."

"This is really happening, isn't it?" A tear slid down his cheek, but he didn't seem to be aware of it. She nodded. She could feel herself choking with tears as well, but she held them back. She wouldn't cry. It was supposed to be easier for her; she was the one who was leaving. "Well, I hope… he'll take a good care of you."

"I think she will," she said quietly, locking her gaze with his.

He blinked, as if thinking he misheard her. Then, when he got it, his eyes widened in horror. "S-she?"

"Yeah."

"You're dumping me for another _woman_?"

"Mark, it's really not the point-" she reached over to touch his hand. He pulled it away.

"The hell it's not," he said and got up. She did, too.

"Mark, listen to me-"

He was pacing around now, moving as far away from her as he could. "I'm not interested to hear about your sexual adventures with another woman."

He was getting nasty. He only did that when he was seriously hurt. She looked at him pleadingly. "Just hear me out."

"I've heard enough," he said sadly. "Just go, Maureen."

She hesitated, but then she thought it might be for the best. "I'll… stop by tomorrow to get my stuff," she said. Mark said nothing. He stood there with his back to her, as if waiting for her to leave. She sighed, and turned to go.

She staggered down the stairs as if she was drunk, her vision blurred with tears. She couldn't hold back anymore. She didn't get farther than that. She just sat on the stairs, buried her head between her knees and cried her eyes out.

A door opened, and she heard a gasp and footsteps. She raised her tear-stained face to meet the worried eyes of a young Latina. The girl obviously got that look as an invitation, for she hurried to sit on the stairs beside her.

"Dios mio, chica, are you okay?" she asked in a singsongy, Spanish accent.

"Fine," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

The girl gave her a look. "You always cry like that when you're fine?" She got up and nodded towards one of the doors down the hall. "Wanna come in for a moment? The heat's not working, but it's warmer than out here."

She hesitated, but only for a second. Then she got up and followed the stranger inside.

"I'm Mimi Marquez," the stranger said once they were inside.

"Maureen Johnson," she replied, her voice a bit shaky. She looked around her. The apartment looked smaller than the loft. It looked like one big room. The bedroom area was separated from the rest of the apartment by a curtain made of beads. She followed Mimi to the shabby couch, and sat down heavily.

"You live upstairs, don't you?" asked Mimi, raising her knees to her chest.

"Lived. I just moved out."

"It was that hard to leave?" She gave Mimi a questioning look. Mimi shrugged. "Isn't that why you were crying?"

"No… yeah… sort of. I just broke up with someone."

"Ouch. Which one of them was your boyfriend?"

"The blonde one with the glasses. Mark."

"The guy with the camera?"

"Yeah."

"If you broke up with him, you shouldn't be the one crying."

"It's a long story," she said. She didn't feel like explaining it all right now. She was exhausted from crying. Then she realized something and looked at Mimi again. "I've never seen you around. You're new in the building?"

"I've been here for a bit over a month, but I'm working nights mostly, which means I'm asleep when the rest of the world is awake."

She smiled. "What do you do?"

"I'm a dancer."

"Cool. What kind of a dance you do?"

Mimi looked somewhat embarrassed, but then looked straight at her and replied, "Exotic. I'm working at the Cat Scratch Club."

She only heard about it from Benny and Roger at the time. She remembered how they spent hours trying to convince Mark to go with them. Of course they came up at loss. She was working at a place like that? She looked hardly 16. Before she could stop herself, and asked, "Aren't you a bit young to work there?"

Mimi looked a bit offended. "I'm 19."

"And that's not young?"

"I'm old for my age." Mimi reached for a cigarette pack that was on the coffee table and offered her one. She hesitated, but then took it. She watched Mimi as she lit both cigarettes with what looked like an expensive lighter. Not something she thought this girl who worked at a strip club could afford. Before she managed to remove her gaze, Mimi's eyes met hers, and as if she knew what was on her mind, she said, "It was a gift from my boyfriend. He's the one who got me this apartment, too. Someone he knows owns some buildings on this block, so…" her voice trailed off. "We're not together anymore," she said, her voice a bit sorrowful.

"Sometimes it's for the best," she said. Especially if the guy Mimi had just described was who she suspected.

"I guess. It takes time to heal though."

She blew the smoke from her cigarette away as Mimi's words sank in. Her thoughts drifted back to Mark, only one floor above her. She wondered what he was doing. Was he having the same conversation with Roger? Was he locked up in their… his… bedroom crying? Was he using his anger to write a new screenplay? How long would it take to heal?

"Maureen? Are you okay?"

She blinked, and smiled apologetically at Mimi. "Sorry."

"I don't want it to sound like I'm kicking you out or something, but I'd better get ready for work. You can stay if you want."

It was nice of her to say that, although she thought she probably shouldn't stay, since they hardly knew each other. And in a while, Joanne would start to wonder where she was. She shook her head. "No, that's okay. I should get going anyway. But thanks for having me."

"No problem. You sure you'd be okay though?"

She managed a confident smile. Yes she would. She always did.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She was back at the building the next morning. It was early, almost 8am, but Joanne's alarm woke her up after a night in which she slept very little, and still it was impossible to fall asleep after that. Instead, she waited until Joanne left for work before she got dressed and headed to the Village.

The door was open, so she let herself in hesitantly. Roger was sitting at the table with a bawl of Cap'n'Crunch in front of him. Watching him sitting there was as if the nightmare of the last six months never happened. He raised his head to the sound of the opening door, and the spoon he held froze halfway to his mouth when he saw her. Slowly, he set the spoon back in the bawl.

"Morning," she said, a bit hesitant. Obviously, Mark told him everything, but what was Roger's opinion about all that? Would he be pissed at her? Would he kick her out?

As if he knew what was on her mind, Roger smirked and gestured the empty seat next to him. "Come in, I'm not gonna kick your ass."

She walked over and sat beside him. He looked great, better than she expected. It was a relief to see at least one of them in a good shape. She felt like shit.

"Breakfast?"

"No, thanks, I just came to take my stuff," she said quietly, looking over his shoulder at the hall.

"He's not here," said Roger in reply to her silent question. "He left early, I think it was for the park. He took his camera with him."

There was a short pause. She had to ask it. It was one of the reasons that kept her awake the night before. "How is he?"

"He had better days, but I'm sure he'll get over it." He looked up at her and shook his head. "You don't look too hot yourself," he noted.

"Yeah, tell me about it," she sighed, leaning her elbow on the table and her head against her arm.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Nah, I'll be fine."

Roger hesitated, but then a slow, devilish grin curled on his lips. "A girl, huh?"

She made a face and smacked his arm. Looking up at him, he looked as if he was hoping for some more information. So typically Roger. She rolled her eyes. "Her name is Joanne and she's a lawyer."

"Oooh, a lawyer, nice job, Maureen," he said teasingly, and she thought it was funny. They were having a normal, brother-and-sister-like conversation, as if he hadn't just finished half a year of withdrawal. Then he got serious. "As long as you're happy."

She nodded. "I am." Although the last thing she felt at the moment was happiness. "Watch Mark for me, will ya? Don't let him do anything stupid."

Roger shook his head sadly. "Don't worry. One suicide in this apartment was more than enough."

This was when she realized what she had just said. Oh shit. "Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"That's okay, Momo," he gave her a small, reassuring smile. He was using her nickname again. That alone was a good sign.

"I'm really glad that you're okay, Roger."

"Not quite okay yet. Let's just say that the worst part is over."

"I'd better get this packing over with before Mark gets back," she said, getting up. She didn't want to traumatize him more than she already did.

Roger nodded. "Okay. Call me if you'll need help."

She didn't call him. Although she did have quite a lot of stuff to pack, she thought it would be for the best if she did it alone. She didn't know how long she was in there, stuffing as much as she could into the two bags she brought with her. It wasn't enough, so she took only the things she knew she'd need most. While zipping the second bag, it suddenly dawned on her. It was final, she was leaving.

She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her hand. Then, slowly, she slid her ring off her finger. She held it for a long moment, just looking at it. She turned it over and her eyes caught sight of the inscription. _Always, M_. At first she thought to leave it on the dresser, but now she thought better of it. She'd keep it. Simply out of instincts. She found a silver necklace in a small jewelry box she had just taken out of the dresser, and slid the ring through it. It would raise fewer questions if she'd wear it on that necklace. It'd look like a locket or something.

Going out to the hall, she could hear Roger talking to someone. She realized who it was too late, when she entered the living room and her eyes met Mark's. She nearly dropped her bags to the floor. Shit. She hoped she'd finish before he'd be back; she didn't want him to see her leave. He looked bad. His glasses couldn't hide the fact that his eyes were all red and puffy. He obviously spent hours crying. It broke her heart to know that she was the reason for it.

"Hi," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. Mark nodded in return, hardly even looking at her. "I'd better go."

"You need help?" Roger asked, obviously trying to break the tension.

"No, thanks, I got it." Her gaze locked with Mark's one last time before he looked away and disappeared down the hall. She sighed.

Roger walked her to the door. "Don't worry about him, he'll be fine."

"He's in your responsibility now," she said, only half joking.

"That's okay. I owe him as much," Roger said seriously. "Take care, Momo. And stay in touch, huh?" he added kind of awkwardly.

"Hey, we broke up, it doesn't mean I'm not your friend anymore. Nothing's changed."

"I sure hope so," Roger said, leaning over to give her a quick hug. "Bye Momo."

"Bye Roggie."

He gave her a look, and she forced a smile before she left. She closed the door slowly and leaned against it, closing her eyes. A single tear slid down her cheek as she touched the ring on her necklace. Goodbye, love.


	17. Damsel in Distress

**A/N- I've already said that to those of you who wrote to me, but I wanted to apologize again for this extremely late update. I'm not even 3 weeks into the new semester and I'm swamped with reading and writing for school. So yeah. Updates are gonna be less frequent from now on… at least until I'll get the hang of it.**

**As for those stage-door pics, as requested, I added a link for my profile where you can see part of them. If you wanna see the rest, just contact me :)**

**Now back to the story… sorry for keeping you waiting, guys! Reviews are still welcome!**

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16- Damsel in Distress**

"Moo with me."

Her strange demand seemed to catch her audience off-guard. They all looked a bit stunned to hear that. From the front row, Mark lowered his camera a bit to give her a weird look. From somewhere at the back, a silly grin curled on Roger and Collins' faces, as if they tried to figure out where she was going with this, or if she was kidding.

Well, she was dead serious. "Come on, Moo with me!" she repeated, a bit more persistently, looking around her pleadingly. It _had_ to work. She had to assure herself that she didn't do all that for nothing. She had to know it was worth it, especially the nightmare of that morning.

And then, out of the stunned silence, someone Mooed.

_Yes! _

Everyone looked back, as if wondering where it came from, if he was serious, should they all follow.

"That's it, Moo with me! Don't be shy! Let it go! Moo! _Moo_! MOO!"

It was a matter of seconds before she got what she wanted. The audience roared. Moos were mixed with cheers and woos, and she stood there onstage, orchestrating the entire thing, smiling victoriously. Throwing a glance at Benny, she was satisfied by what she has seen in his face. He didn't like the way things turned out to be. Whereas her, on the other hand…

She waited couple of seconds longer, enjoying her sweet victory. Then, when the Moos seemed louder than ever, she raised her hands and let her lips curl in a sweet, grateful smile, that was aimed straight at Benny. "Thank you!"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She should have known he wouldn't accept defeat so easily.

Thank God, everything ended by now. Mark even got some great footage of the riot, so things might actually turn in their favor. If that would happen, it'd be the final blow for the Gray Corporation.

They were hanging out at the Life Café now, celebrating their victory. They were all fairly drunk by now, dancing on the tables, laughing, teasing one another. Her head was reeling as if she drank two bottles of wine, but she knew it was mostly just adrenaline and victory. Wine never had such an affect on her.

She glanced at Joanne, who was talking to Collins at a distance, and a small smile crept on her lips. It was the first night when they showed up as a couple, and although she feared from Joanne's reaction to her friends, or their reaction to Joanne, they actually seemed to be getting along pretty well. By Collins' enthusiastic hand gestures, he seemed to be giving Joanne one of his lectures, but she actually seemed pretty interested. Angel was sitting next to them. She smiled. She should have known that she would meet that sweet drummer boy again. She should have seen back then he was perfect for her Collins.

She let her gaze wander across the room. Roger and Mimi left through the back door like 15 minutes ago. It was easy to guess for what purpose, once everyone's beepers went off and the truth was out in the open. She was glad that things worked out for them the way they did. She came to know Mimi pretty well by now, after that first evening she spent at her apartment when she and Mark broke up. She knew her enough to know that she and Roger were right for each other. She hoped they'd take care of one another. They both needed to be taken care of.

Mark was sitting at the corner of the café. Alone, she suddenly noticed. He was watching the back door absent-mindedly, as if waiting for Roger and Mimi to emerge back into the café. She couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. Everyone had someone that night. And it was the first time he actually saw her with the woman she dumped him for, so she figured how hard it was for him. He seemed to be okay though; probably because he made sure to have enough wine and beer around. His hands were embracing a bottle of cheap wine, as if his life was depended on it. He looked so lonely and desperate it made her heart break.

She owed him a lot. He saved her protest. He came over to the lot when she called him hysterically, even though he didn't have to. He could hang up on her, or tell her to go to hell, but he didn't. He didn't sound so reluctant to help her at first, not that she could blame him. _She_ dumped _him_, and now she was asking for his help. It was somewhat selfish, sure, but what could she possibly do? She was desperate! Couple of days before, when Joanne found out that Mark was still her official production manager, she volunteered to take his place, and she said yes because Joanne could be extremely persuasive…

Anyway, in spite of her good intentions (and she kept telling herself that good intentions _were_ Joanne's sole motivation in taking Mark's place), most of the time Joanne didn't know what the hell she was doing. She just wasn't a theater person. And even though she knew that, it pissed the hell out of her that morning, when Joanne called her to say that something was wrong with the equipment.

If Mark wouldn't have come to take a look at her screwed up equipment that morning, none of the later events would have happened. Not to mention the footage he managed to get. In fact, she should go there and thank him for everything, she decided, getting up. Her abrupt movement made her dizziness even worse. She felt herself swaying slightly, and held the edge of the table for support, scrounging an eyebrow. Hmm. She figured she probably drunk more than she noticed.

Mark looked up in surprise when she sat across from him. "What do you want?" he grumbled drunkenly. It seemed almost wrong. She smiled.

"You look like you could use some company."

"Don't you have your girlfriend to entertain?"

She chose to ignore the sarcasm in his voice. "She's well taken care of, with Professor Collins over there," she replied, nodding towards Joanne and Collins. When she turned her eyes back to Mark, she caught him staring at her. He turned his gaze away instantly, murmuring something. She sighed. "Look, Mark-"

"No. Don't." He looked straight at her, suddenly very sober. His expression broke her heart. "It's just… it still hurts."

"I know. I'm sorry," she said quietly. She was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. He looked so sad. "I just wanted to thank you for today."

"It was nothing."

"You know it was more than that. If you weren't there to fix everything this morning-"

"I'm sure Joanne is intelligent enough to come up with something eventually."

That sarcasm again. She detected it right away. She shook her head. "I don't know. She's a brilliant lawyer, but she doesn't know shit about show business."

A shadow of a smile crossed Mark's face. He raised his head to face her, and his eyes met hers. His expression was wounded, broken. She tried to conceal that gleam of happiness she knew was visible in her own expression. She hurt him enough as it was.

"You keep on saving me," she said before she could stop herself, her voice getting a bit raspy after screaming her throat off in her protest and later on at the café. She'd lose her voice by tomorrow, she knew, but for once, she didn't care if she would. It was definitely worth it. "You saved me when I sprained my ankle, and you saved me again when my equipment broke down, you're my knight on a white horse…" she let her voice trail off hoarsely, feeling extremely light-headed all of a sudden. "That's what you are, Marky…"

"No, I'm not. Not anymore," he replied, shaking his head sadly. "_She_ is," he added, pointing an unsteady arm towards Joanne, "She's your knight now… I'm just me… just Mark… just… some guy."

He was definitely wasted. He could never get drunk properly. She could always handle drinking. She always knew she had enough of it when she started acting funny. Like now. Looking at Mark, all she felt like doing was go and sit on his lap and kiss him.

So she did.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Thinking that they could use the fresh air, she and Joanne walked back home instead of hailing a cab. The snow seemed light enough to walk through, and even though it was almost 4am by now, the streets were still packed with people. Not that Joanne expressed any sort of objection. In fact, she hasn't said anything for the last… two hours? Hmm. She tried to figure out when was the last time Joanne actually said something to her that evening, but she couldn't remember. Her memory was completely blurred. Everything was fuzzy, and she could feel the headache that started buzzing at the back of her head. She knew what it meant. She'd wake up with a killer hangover. Ugh.

She actually felt a bit better after standing under a stream of hot water for almost ten minutes straight. Then she quickly slipped into old sweatpants and her college sweatshirt, and crawled into bed. Joanne seemed to be fast asleep. Now that her mind was somewhat clear, she thought again about Joanne's strange behavior in the past couple of hours. Of course, there was always the possibility she was imagining things, especially under the affect of alcohol. And it could be that Joanne was simply as drunk as she was. That was probably it, she told herself, snuggling into the blankets and closing her eyes. Nothing to worry about.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Boy, did she get it wrong.

Joanne was already awake when she hauled herself out of bed and into the kitchen the following morning. Joanne hardly raised her head to acknowledge her, just sipped her coffee absent-mindedly.

"Morning," she murmured, reaching for a mug. Her voice was hoarse and raspy, just as she expected. She should have tea instead, she knew, for milk would only make things worse, but with that headache… she decided she was better off having coffee.

Taking her mug, she came to sit across from Joanne, noting to herself that Joanne never returned her Good Morning. She was reading something, she now noticed. An open folder was set open on the table in front of her, but she doubted Joanne could concentrate on reading it. She consumed just as much alcohol the other night as she did. And she couldn't even read the label on the milk carton.

"You okay?" she asked, a bit hesitantly.

It seemed to catch Joanne by surprise. She finally raised her head from the folder, and their eyes met for a slight second. "Fine," she replied shortly, turning a page in the folder.

Something was going on. She wasn't sure what, but it was definitely there. Joanne didn't seem willing to talk about it. Maybe Collins told her something? Collins wouldn't do that, right? They seemed to go along pretty well. Of course, Roger could have said something to her, in defense of his best friend, but he was so self-occupied the other night with Mimi and all, so it couldn't be that.

And then there was that possibility she didn't even want to consider; that Joanne was still mad at her over the argument they had over the phone the pervious morning. It would be completely ridiculous to be still mad about it, though. She was really nervous before her protest, so when her equipment broke down, she did too. Joanne should have known she didn't mean half the things she said. But even that didn't make much sense, because if she _was_ mad, it was only logical she'd be mad for the rest of the day, and she obviously wasn't, until some point. So what the hell was wrong?

"Maureen?"

The mentioning of her name shook her out of her reverie. She looked up and gave Joanne a questioning look. For a moment, Joanne said nothing. She had that hesitant expression, as if there was something she wanted to say but didn't know how to say it. She looked at her lover expectantly, patiently, waiting to hear what she had to say.

And still, she was caught completely off-guard when Joanne finally uttered her question.

"Did you cheat on Mark a lot, would you say?"

She placed her mug on the table in one sharp movement that almost made the coffee spill out of it. She opened her mouth, then quickly shut it again. For the first time in a _very_ long time, she was absolutely speechless. Where the hell did _that_ come from?

"I… What do you mean?" she asked weakly, feeling ashamed of herself of displaying her vulnerability.

"I think the question was clear enough," Joanne replied calmly. Her tone was cold. So were her eyes.

There could be only one explanation to this. "Did Mark say something to you?"

Joanne's face remained expressionless. "He might have."

She could feel the fury within her starting to burn. That bastard! "What did he tell you?"

"I think it's _my_ right to ask the questions here, Maureen," said Joanne, looking at her accusingly. "Just answer me."

"No way! I won't cooperate with this nonsense!"

"Saying such a thing only makes you appear guiltier, Maureen."

"_Guilty_? I'm not one of your clients, Joanne, save this shit for work, okay?"

"Look, it's an easy question-"

"On which I won't bother to answer because this is crap! And if you believe those lies he told you about me, that's your problem, not mine, I won't go along with it!"

"Fine. Don't bother," Joanne said dryly. "I could figure as much last night anyway."

Her headache was getting worse again, pounding against her ears. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, kissing your ex-boyfriend in the middle of a crowded café."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "_That_'s what this was all about? It was just one meaningless kiss!"

"Yeah, I'm sure _he_ was telling himself as much when he had his hands all over you!"

"Joanne, come on, this is nonsense!"

"Look, everyone saw that. Are you going to deny it happened? That the alcohol somehow played tricks on me?"

"No, that's not what I'm gonna do," she sighed. "But you don't have to make such a big deal out of it. I was just being friendly, that's all. He helped me a lot with the stuff for my protest last night. And he got this footage of the riot… I was just being grateful."

"There are other ways to express your gratitude. Try to use them the next time, will you?"

She let out a desperate sigh. Why wouldn't she let it go? "Look, I was _drunk_, okay? People do the craziest things when they're drunk! It was only a kiss! It was _Mark_!"

"That's just the problem," Joanne said, her tone softening.

Now she was confused. "What is?"

"That it was Mark. He's your ex, and in case you didn't notice, he's not quite over you yet, to say the least."

"I did notice," she said softly. "But that doesn't change one very important fact."

"Which is?"

"That I love _you_." She didn't know what made her say it, and for a moment, she couldn't say anything else. It just sort of slipped off her tongue before she could think better of it. She got the feeling she said more than she had to. She blamed it on her hangover. Whether she thought it was true or not, it had the desired effect. Joanne's features softened instantly, and she reached over and took her hand.

"Oh, honey… I love you too."

Joanne never mentioned the issue of her cheating on Mark again, and yet it kept bugging her for the rest of the morning. It really pissed her off. What could he possibly tell Joanne that made her into a complete paranoid? And why would he do this? To deliberately destroy her relationship with Joanne? Mark wasn't someone who'd do such a thing, no matter how hurt or heart-broken he was.

Maybe it was time to pay a visit to her ex.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

When she got to their building, she was so nervous she could practically kill the first person she'd bump into. She stormed up the stairs and into the loft, slamming the door shut.

Someone groaned in response. It seemed to have come from the living-room, where a figure laid curled under a thick blanket. "Why the hell you did that for…" Mark mumbled, sitting up.

Her eyes narrowed. There he was, the bastard. He had no idea what he was in for. "Are you alone?"

"Roger is still at Mimi's," he replied, blinking, as if trying to adjust to the light.

It was then when she realized he didn't look so good. "What's up with you?"

"Hangover," he said, stating the obvious. "It was actually getting a bit better and then _you_ walked in. Was it really necessary to slam the door that way?" he tried to get up from the couch, but she raised her hand to stop him.

"Don't bother. I'm not staying."

"What do you want then?"

"I want you to tell me exactly what you told Joanne about me yesterday."

Mark went pale. So he _did_ say something to her! He looked away, as if trying to remember, and then looked back at her, looking extremely guilty. "I… might have said something… but I didn't…"

"What did you say, Mark?"

"I didn't mean half of it!"

"Well, she took it pretty seriously!"

He moaned and raised his hands to cover his ears. "Not so loud!"

"Look, if you two were talking about me, I think I have a right to know what you said!"

"Maureen, I don't think-"

"I don't give a damn about what you think, Mark! My girlfriend is pissed at me because she thinks I might cheat on her, because _you_ told her I cheated on you!" Mark lowered his head, which made her blood boil. "Well, did you or didn't you tell her that?"

"I didn't lie to her," he said, looking straight at her. It made her even more furious. "You told me yourself."

"I told you what?"

"You said you were sleeping around. And since you bothered to mention it over and over again, I started to think that maybe you actually meant it. So I wasn't lying to her. I was just warning her."

Shit. She did tell him that. She remembered that fight. All she meant by that back then was for him to notice her. "Still, you had _no right_ to tell her such things. This is none of your goddamned business!"

"Look, Maureen, what did you want me to do? You called me to come and fix your equipment without even thinking I might have other stuff to do, and then when I get there, _she_ is there too… I was just-"

"Jealous?"

"No, not jealous," he said, way too quickly to be considered as true. "I was mad, okay? I think I have a right to, after you dumped me."

She sighed, but said nothing. In a way, he had a point. She should have been more thoughtful. He did do her a favor, after all. She could tell Joanne to leave or something. It wasn't very fair of her.

"I guess I got a bit carried away," Mark said quietly. "I'm sorry. I'll go and talk to her if you think it'll work things out."

"No, don't bother. She might kick your ass if you'll try," she smiled sadly. "I'm sorry I called you in the first place. I just didn't know who else to call."

"That's okay."

"I just wish… that we could be friends again. You know, like when I first moved here. Before… everything," she said. She got up and walked over to the couch he was sitting on, and sat beside him.

"It can never be the same and you know it," Mark smiled sadly. He changed so much since then, she suddenly realized. As if he grew up, in a way.

"I know. But that's not necessarily a bad thing." Before she could stop herself, she reached over and tousled his hair. "You _are_ my knight on a white horse, Marky."

He looked confused. He obviously didn't remember that part of last night. "What?"

At least she wouldn't have to apologize about kissing him. "Nothing," she smiled. "Friends?"

He seemed to hesitate, but then he slowly nodded and managed a forced smile. "Sure. Friends."


	18. Visits to You

**A/N: In the following chapter, Maureen might seem a bit OOC and over-emotional, but since this chapter follows the period of Angel's illness, I thought it was quite appropriate and not so much OOC. This, of course, depends on how you choose to perceive Maureen's character, and I hope I managed to convince you by now that she's more than the cold-hearted, manipulated diva everyone thinks she is. She has feelings, and therefore being a bit emotional over a friend's suffering is not OOC, at least in my opinion.**

**Happy reading, guys! Please review!**

**Oh yeah- and the one who is The Philosophy Club in Idina-Here… thanks for your comment! It made me smile :)**

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17- Visits to You**

"Why do you keep insisting, I'm telling you, _nothing_ is going on!"

"Maureen, I'm not stupid! I know you weren't friendly to her simply because she has just moved next door with us! I saw the way you were looking at her!"

"Oh, come on! _The way I was looking at her_?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

"Jesus, Joanne, will you stop being so fuckin' paranoid?"

"I'll stop being paranoid when you'll stop giving me reasons for it!"

The piercing ring of the phone put an end to the argument, practically stopping Joanne mid-sentence. She was closer to the phone, and she walked over to it and picked it up with a sigh. They shared one cold look, as if telling each other it wasn't over yet, and then Joanne brought her attention to the call.

"Hello? Roger, hi, what are you…" her voice trailed off as she listened to what Roger was probably telling her on the other end.

Her eyebrows knotted together in slight confusion. She thought it was strange. Roger rarely called them. If they all met to hang out together, it was usually under Collins' responsibility to call them. Or Mimi's. She hoped everything was alright.

And then, within an instant, she knew that it wasn't, as Joanne's expression transformed, and her anger melted into a much more grievant expression.

"Yeah. Okay. We'll be right there," she said quietly, and placed the phone back on its hook. She said nothing for a long moment, as if trying to take in whatever Roger had just told her.

"Jo? What's wrong?" she asked, her own tone softening in spite of herself. Joanne didn't seem mad anymore. She wasn't sure how she seemed, though. Her expression was a combination of so many emotions, and it made her kind of panicked. Did Benny kick the guys out of the loft again? As likely as it was, she was sure it wouldn't effect Joanne that much. No, it must have been worse than that. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what happened.

Joanne seemed to have a hard time answering, but then she looked up at her, and she was horrified to detect tears in the corners of her girlfriends' eyes. "That was Roger," she said softly, her voice a bit shaking. "They're at the hospital. Angel… it's really bad," she said.

The words sank in, their meaning stabbing like the sharpest knife. _Angel_… No. Not again. Not Angel. But she didn't let herself ponder over it. She ran past Joanne to their bedroom, to get their coats. It sounded as if they didn't have much time.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She went out to the hall. She told the guys she was going to the cafeteria, but the truth was that she just wanted to get out of that room. She couldn't handle it. She couldn't see Angel in that bed, lying helpless against that virus that slowly took her away from them. She couldn't stand the smell of the hospital, and the sights of sick people in the hall. She already knew the symptoms; nausea, sudden weakness in her knees, dizziness she didn't seem able to control. She was allergic to hospitals.

She leaned against a wall and closed her eyes, breathing in and out slowly, calming down. She had to. It's been a week since Angel got into the hospital. They were about to spend quite a lot of time there, it seemed, so she'd better not let her memories take hold on her. But how could she not? It was all coming back, and there was no stopping it. Mark and Roger felt that too, and even if they didn't talk about it, she could see it in their faces. They were living the nightmare once again, only this time, it wouldn't end up so abruptly as before. No, this time it would be slow and painful. They'd have to watch her slipping away.

Why did everything have to go so wrong all of a sudden? They all had couple of great months, and now it all seem to shatter in their faces. Angel got hospitalized, and even though they all appeared optimistic for her, they knew her chances to get out of there alive were extremely low. Roger and Mimi weren't speaking; something that had to do with Benny again, and Mimi's failing attempt to give up drugs, but she didn't have a chance to delve into that issue, as she had her own unstable relationship to worry about. She and Joanne were constantly fighting, mostly over Joanne's baseless suspicions. She was never convinced that there was no true in Mark's stories, not even after he told her so himself. She couldn't even speak to another woman without Joanne's accusing glare drilling holes in her back. She was sick and tired of all that.

Well, maybe they did need some time apart. When Joanne first told her so that morning, the first thing she did was protest, but the more she thought about it, the more appealing it became. Joanne wanted to be alone for a while. She felt that she had to respect that. It might be good for her too; she was hardly alone ever since she got to New York. And maybe it would help them work things out.

Gah, why relationships had to be so damn complicated? She only had two, and both were complete disaster. Well, not really, she told herself, her hand instinctively reaching for the ring on her necklace. She forced that thought away, unsure where it came from in the first place. It was Joanne she had to think of now, not… him.

So she was single again, and homeless. She didn't even know where she was going to spend the night. Maybe the boys would let her crush in the loft for a while, until she'd find a place of her own. Or until Joanne would come back to her senses and take her back. She really hoped for the second option. The thought of an apartment-hunt made her even dizzier.

"Maureen?"

She opened her eyes, startled and a bit disoriented. For a second, she forgot where she was. She was still leaning against the wall. Mark was watching her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and worry behind his glasses.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied. By the look on his face, she could tell he figured as much. "Why aren't you with the rest of the guys?"

"You didn't come back, so I went looking for you." He gave her a closer look now. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I just hate this place," she whispered, looking away so he wouldn't notice the tears that stung her eyes.

The touch came somewhat unexpectedly. She didn't realize he was standing so close. He wiped her tears with his thumb, flashing her a small smile. "It's okay," he said.

As far as she was concerned, it was the wrong thing to say. "How can you say that?" she interjected, suddenly furious. "Nothing's okay, Mark, everything's going to hell and we can't stop it! Angel is _dying_, and there's nothing we can do to help her. We're just gonna end up losing her, just like we lost April. And then what? We'll lose Mimi and Collins and Roger from the same fuckin' reason and there's nothing we can do about it!" she was sobbing into his chest now, burying her face in his jacket, but she hardly noticed when the tears started, or when he wrapped his arms around her. She just had to let it out. "I hate this. I really, really hate this…" she murmured.

Mark tightened his grip around her, soothingly rubbing her back. "Shh… I know. I hate it too," he said, so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

She raised her head to face him. Her vision was blurred from tears. There were tears in his eyes now, too. "It's just so unfair."

"I know. But you're wrong if you're thinking there's nothing we can do." She gave him a questioning look. "We gotta be there for them. Even if that's all we _can_ do."

She shook her head. "Somehow it doesn't seem enough."

He didn't answer. He reached for his pocket and handed her a tissue. She took it with a small smile and cleaned her tear-stained face the best she could with it. "Feel better?"

"Not really," she said honestly. "But thanks for going out looking for me." He smiled. She hesitated, but then thought she'd better ask it and get this over with, or she'd find herself spending the night on the street. "I don't want it to sound like I'm pushing my luck or something, but… would you mind if I'll spend the next couple of nights at your place?" she asked, carefully looking up at him. Then she realized how suggestive it sounded, and quickly added, "on your couch, that it." Feeling her cheeks beginning to redden, she quickly looked away.

It took Mark a moment, as if he wasn't sure how he was supposed to react, but then he slowly nodded. "Yeah. Sure, of course."

"Do you think Roger will mind?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Beside, all he thinks about now is leaving, so he-"

"Whoa, whoa, _what_? Leaving?" she asked, looking at him incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Roger's leaving for Santa Fe," Mark replied, looking extremely sad all of a sudden. "Just for a while. He said he needed some time to be alone, to figure things out. I can't blame him, really. He's been through a lot in such a short time."

She nodded. But in a way, they all did. "When is he leaving?"

"I'm not sure yet, but pretty soon, I guess."

"If it's pretty soon, how come none of us knows about this yet?"

"He asked me not to say anything. I think he kind of hopes the thing with Mimi will work out somehow. Please don't tell him I told you," he added quickly, looking terrified at the thought that she might do that.

"Of course not."

"Good," he said. He seemed hesitant, but then asked gently, "You had another fight?"

"Sort of," she replied. She didn't want to tell him Joanne kind of kicked her out, but it looked as if he managed to figure it out somehow. "We just need some time apart," she said, making it sound like it was her idea. Mark still didn't look so convinced, but he said nothing about it.

"Why don't you go to wash your face, and then we'll go back?" he asked gently, moving her hair from her face.

She wanted to tell him that she didn't want to go back there. Ever. She just wanted to go back home, and that everything would be alright again. Instead, she just wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close. It seemed to have caught him by surprise, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around her, hugging her back. They just stood there in silence, comforting one another with no words.

Her gaze wandered at the strangest feeling they were being watched. Looking up, she thought she saw Joanne standing there, at a distance, watching them. She blinked, then opened her eyes again to face the once again empty hallway, and she wondered if it was really Joanne she has seen there in the first place.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

There were no specific visitation hours at the wing where Angel was hospitalized, but Collins was insistent about them not spending the nights at the waiting room. They did that during the first week, as if thinking it would be best in case something, anything, would happen during the night. But now, a bit over two weeks since this whole nightmare started, they kind of agreed with Collins; it _was_ kind of pointless for all of them to be there during the night.

They separated down the street, Joanne hailing a cab to take her back home uptown, Benny leading Mimi to an expensive-looking car, never offering them a ride home. They just stayed there on the sidewalk, Mark, Roger and her, until their friends disappeared from sight, Joanne in her cab, and Benny's car being swallowed into the city's traffic. She watched Roger as his gaze followed Benny's car, until it was out of their sight.

They were back at the loft again. Roger closed himself in his bedroom once they got home. The sound of his closing door always made her sad. Soon Roger would be gone too. She couldn't believe he was seriously considering leaving for Santa Fe. She sighed. It wasn't supposed to end like that.

"Tired?" Mark's voice invaded her thoughts.

She shook her head. The last thing she felt like doing, yet at the same time the thing she wanted most of all, was sleep. "Not really."

"Want some company? I can make us some tea or something."

As if everything was normal again. "Yeah. That'll be great."

Mark smiled in reply. "Okay. I'll be right back then."

She took a quick shower and changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt she stole from Mark's closet when he was in the shower. While slipping it on, she suddenly remembered that thing Angel told her that afternoon. She was extremely weak, and yet she wanted to have five minutes in private with each of them. She knew what Angel was doing; like the rest of them, she, too, knew that the end was close. She was saying her goodbyes.

She just wasn't sure what Angel meant in telling her what she did.

Mark was already in the living-room when she walked back in there. He raised his head as she entered, and nodded towards a steaming mug on the coffee table. "Earl Gray, one sugar," he said.

She smiled. Trust Mark to remember just how she drank her tea. She considered her options; she could take a seat on the armchair across from him, as he was practically sitting on what was her bed, or she could just sit there beside him. What's the big deal? They were friends now.

He gave her an amused look as she settled herself, stuffing her sock-clad feet underneath her. "Is this my sweatshirt you're wearing?"

She flashed him an apologetic smile. "I hope you don't mind." She reached for her mug, embracing it with both hands to keep them warm. "Thanks."

"For the tea or for my sweatshirt?" asked Mark, smiling mischievously.

"Both," she replied, returning his smile. Then it slowly faded with the thought of Roger, closed in his room. "I can't believe he's going."

Mark sighed. "Yeah, I know. But maybe this _is_ what he needs. He had a really hard time with Mimi, first being there for her when she decided she wanted to quit using, and then when he caught her buying smack from The Man again…" he shook his head. "I dunno. I guess it made him realize he might have ended up the same way."

"But he didn't. He has you to thank."

"I guess. But he shouldn't push Mimi away because of that. He should try to help her."

"I think… that this is a decision _he_ has to make, not us," she said slowly, although she did think Mark had a point.

"Yeah, guess you're right," said Mark. There was a short pause. They sipped their tea silently. "So, umm…" he started again after a while, leaning back on the couch, "you looked kind of shaken when you left Angel's room this afternoon," he pointed out, placing his mug back on the table. It sounded like a casual observation, as if he was only trying to make a conversation, but she could see in his eyes there was more to it. And quite frankly, it took her by surprise. She didn't think anyone noticed.

"Yeah, I was… I guess 'shaken' fits," she admitted.

"You wanna talk about it?"

There was _no way_ she could possibly tell him what Angel told her. No way at all. So instead, she forced on a reassuring smile and said, "It wasn't anything she said, really. It was the way she was… saying goodbye and all that. I guess it really hit me when she did it… that we're really losing her." She said the last thing in a whisper, as she was choking with sudden tears. Her throat felt sore. She placed the mug on the table and quickly wiped her tears away.

"It's okay to cry, you know," Mark said softly, and yet somehow managed to startle her. "You don't have to work so hard on hiding it. That's what Roger never understands. It's okay to show emotion sometimes. It only makes you more human."

She hated crying in front of people. It was unlike the Drama Queen to appear so weak and vulnerable. So she learned how to hold them back.

She didn't feel like holding back anymore.

"It's just… whenever we leave that room every night… I always go out asking myself if this is the last time, if she'll be there the next morning. And I don't want her to go." She snorted as she realized how it sounded. "Isn't it a horrible thing to say? I know how much she suffers and yet I don't want her to go. How selfish is that?" She couldn't stop the tears from running now, so she buried her face in her hands, crying into them. She was such a horrible person, it suddenly dawned on her. Selfish, selfish, sel-

"Hey…" The couch groaned under their weights as Mark shifted a bit and moved closer to her. "Don't you dare thinking like that, Maureen." He took her in his arms now, rocking her gently as if he was comforting a child after a bad dream. "You're not selfish. I feel just like you do. I don't want Angel to die, none of us does. But I keep telling myself that maybe it's for the best. It'll end her suffering."

She took a deep breath, feeling herself calm down a bit. She looked up at him doubtfully. "Do you really believe that?" she asked.

Mark hesitated, but only for a moment. "Yeah. I think I do. I think Angel believe that too."

"Everything's so fucked up…" she sighed.

Mark shrugged. "C'est la vie."

She snorted. "Viva la vie Boheme."

He let out a small, bitter laughter. Then he looked at her. "You okay?"

"I'm… not sure. I keep thinking about this thing she told me," she said, realizing too late that she did.

"It looks like it bothers you."

"I guess… sort of. It's something she asked me to do. I'm just not sure why she asked _me_ to do it." Or maybe she did, but burying it seemed a wiser, safer alternative.

"What did she ask?"

"She wanted to make sure… that I'll watch over _you_," she said quietly, looking straight at him.

He blushed instantly, but he didn't seem to be aware of it. "Oh," he said dumbly.

"I asked her what she meant, so she just gave me that mysterious smile of hers and said, 'you know what I mean, honey'." She shook her head. Angel's voice was still echoing through when she repeated her words.

"And… you know what she meant?" Mark asked slowly, never breaking their gaze.

_Did_ she know? She wasn't sure. She had her suspicions, of course, but those were all things she thought would be better avoided or repressed. She looked away. She couldn't face him. She was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, sitting so close to him.

And then she had to face him again as she felt his hand against her cheek. For a second, it felt as if she stopped breathing. She looked at him. He said nothing, just… sort of gazed at her. His finger drew small circles against her temple, its motion gentle and hypnotizing. She closed her eyes. They shouldn't be doing this; even though they weren't doing anything, technically. She knew it was wrong.

She didn't care.

She opened her eyes, her gaze locks back with Mark's. She traced her finger along his lower lip, as if trying to memorize its shape. Neither of them said anything yet, but she thought it was better that way. Words would only break the spell, bring reality back, make them face it.

Well, she was sick and tired of reality.

Mark was obviously feeling the same, as his lips met hers halfway in a passionate kiss.


	19. It's Over

**A/N: to say that I'm sorry doesn't seem a good enough excuse for this delay. When I said on my last update that updates were going to be less frequent, I had no idea how true this would become. School is crazier than ever, and between that and work, there's very little time left for writing. There's an apology note in my profile that says pretty much the same. I'm glad to get those reviews every once in a while, though, because it means some of you are still following this. So thanks guys, and again, my apologies, but it's really out of my control. Keep following this story, it might be slow, but it's not finished yet.**

**In another note, I just wanted to thank those of you who read and reviewed _There's a Girl I Know_, and to tell you that I've decided to leave it a oneshot. It looks like a wiser choice, at least at this point.**

**18- It's Over**

Time stood still.

She couldn't believe she was doing this. She was practically cheating on her girlfriend with her ex, making out with him on the couch in his apartment. And, as if things weren't fucked up enough, this actually felt… well, right.

Mark pushed her slightly backwards so they were now lying on the couch, a mess of arms and legs entwined in one another, still exchanging fervent, passionate kisses that left her breathless and not the least guilty. Mark pulled away from their kisses and trailed his lips to her neck. She closed her eyes and shifted slightly to allow him better access. She took some deep breaths to regain lost oxygen, and stopped herself from moaning aloud when his lips settled on the crook of her neck; somehow she managed to remember Roger was home.

She reached over and slid her hands under Mark's T-shirt, her fingernails grazing his skin, ready to pull the shirt off. Considering him the more reasonable one, she thought this slight movement would make him go back to his senses and put an end to whatever the hell they were doing, but it didn't. He moved to nibble on her earlobe, his own hands reaching under her sweatshirt… his sweatshirt… sliding up, achingly slow-

The phone rang, its sound piercing the air.

"Shit," Mark breathed, startled. Sudden coldness replaced the feeling of his warm hands on her stomach.

"Leave it…" she murmured, holding on to his shirt in a desperate motion that didn't suit her.

"Can't," he replied reluctantly and pulled away from her. She watched him as he reached for the phone, a second before the machine took over. "Yeah, we're here," he said, still somewhat out-of-breath. "Hey Collins."

She sat up, throwing him a questioning look, which he didn't return.

"Yeah. Okay. We're on our way, just hold on," he said quietly, and then hung up. She watched him as he slowly put the phone down, his expression sad and contemplated. Then he seemed to remember she was still there, and raised his head to face her.

She knew it, even before he said it.

It was over.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The following couple of days were a nightmare. Funeral arrangements, dozens of phone calls, a church, a cemetery, flowers… It seemed as if there was this silent agreement between her, Mark and Roger to take care of everything, to make it easier on Collins. They never actually spoke it out; everyone seemed to know his part.

Collins seemed to be okay, as if he had some time to get used to the idea, that when Angel was no longer, it wasn't such a shock. He moved in them, saying that he didn't want to be alone in the apartment he shared with Angel. It kind of felt like old times again, only now April was dead, she and Mark were practically ignoring one another, Benny was away with Mimi, and Roger hardly even said a word to them. On the night before the funeral, he told them about his intentions to leave for Santa Fe right on the following day. None of them was surprised, nor did they try to stop him. They all knew it was worthless. When Roger made up his mind, it was almost impossible to talk him out of it.

She informed Joanne personally about Angel's death and the funeral arrangements. She knew one of the guys would have done it for her if she asked, but she didn't think it would have been fair, to the guys or to Joanne. The phone call was short, tensed, and obviously sad. She could almost sense Joanne's heartbrokenness when she told her about Angel. Knowing that Joanne would be in the funeral made her feel kind of uncomfortable, considering their temporary break-up and everything that happened ever since, but she decided she'd just swallow it up and handle it like a grown-up. There were other things that needed to be taken care of at the moment.

She really wasn't sure how at the end of that day, she and Joanne sort of got back together. One moment they were all fighting and screaming at one another, and the next thing she knew Roger was gone and she was comforting Joanne. At the moment, it did seem like they were going to make it after all. It felt as if everything could be okay again, if they tried hard enough.

Problem was, things didn't always work that way.

It was the beginning of the end again, she just wasn't willing to accept it.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Two weeks later, Mimi was gone. No one knew where she was, not even Benny or her friends at the Cat Scratch. She disappeared without a trace. Each direction they took led them to a dead-end eventually. Roger was away and unreachable most of the time. When he did call, Mark and Collins decided not to tell him what happened, which she thought was silly because he would have gone back home in a snap. But she didn't interfere, not this time. She had her own shattering life to handle. And for the first time, she had no idea how she was going to do that.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She wasn't sure what was it that woke her up, but she didn't feel like sleeping anymore. She stretched lazily, snuggling into the warm covers. The light of the morning sun was streaming into the room through the Venetian blinds. Another rainless day, or so it seemed, a week before Christmas.

"Jo?" she called and sat up. When there was no reply, she looked around her for a watch or something that would show her the time. It was then when she noticed the post-it on Joanne's bedside. _There was an emergency at work. I'll be back around 6. How about Chinese for dinner?_ That was it. No _Honeybear_ or _I'll miss you_, not even _Love, Joanne_; nothing. She sighed and leaned back. It was a sort of relief to have Joanne out of the apartment, as a matter of fact. Things got pretty tensed between them again lately with no apparent reason. They were just constantly pissed at one another, constantly finding reasons to fight with one another. She knew it couldn't go on like that. She was tired of arguing, of defending herself. It wasn't right anymore. It had to end. She just didn't have the guts to end it.

The phone rang just as she poured herself some coffee. She snatched it and clicked it on absent-mindedly. "Hello?"

"Hi Momo."

She almost chocked on her coffee when she recognized his voice. "_Roggie_?"

He let out a short, a bit embarrassed laughter. "Yeah, hey."

She smiled at the sound, although she thought it was odd. He was gone for almost two months now, and never did he call her there, always to the loft. As much as it was great to hear him, she couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong. "How are you, honey?"

"I'm… okay. I'm home."

She laid her coffee mug on the table and straightened up, giving him her full attention, even though he couldn't see her. "Really? When did that happen?"

"I just got back a few hours ago, I took the night bus."

"A bus? What happened to the car?" He sold his fender to get that car. She couldn't believe he actually did it, at the time.

"It served me well," he said vaguely. That didn't really answer her silent wondering, but she didn't want to press him. He'd give her answers, she knew; when he was ready.

"I'm glad you're back," she said, meaning every word of it. She was kind of worried when he wasn't around. Worried in a maternal kind of way, which wasn't at all like her.

"I'm glad to be back." There was a short pause. She wondered if it was necessary to tell him about Mimi's disappearance. She didn't know how much he knew, considering he had just gotten back… But before she had a chance to say anything about it, he spoke again. "Listen, I was wondering… are you busy today?"

There was this unmistakable urgency to his voice. "Not really, no," she replied. She hesitated, but then she felt compelled to ask it anyway. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just… kind of wanna talk."

"Give me 15 minutes? I can meet you at the Life. Breakfast is on you."

He laughed again. It made her lips curl in a small, unconscious smile. "Sure. I'll see you there."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Roger was already there when she stepped into the café. He was hunched over an old-looking notebook, scribbling something hastily. A wave of relief washed over her. She was so happy he was back home.

He raised his head when she dropped her purse and coat on the table, and a huge grin curled on his lips. He got up and wrapped his arms around her in a huge hug. She hugged him back, and they just stood like that for a moment. Then he slowly let go.

"You look great," she smiled, running a hand along his cheek. It was a bit spiky, but she didn't care. He did look good, shaved or not.

"Better than you expected?"

"I guess." A waiter that she didn't know walked over to them, and they ordered breakfast and some more coffee. Then when he was gone, she looked at Roger in slight concern. "You must be tired."

He shook his head. "Nah. I slept most of the way here."

There was a short pause. Then she looked up at him questionably. "So, did you find what you were looking for?"

Roger sighed. "I did. And apparently I got back too late to get it." So he did know. Mark must have told him at some point. It was probably why he took the night bus home. "You didn't hear anything from her?"

There was so much hope in his question. His pleading expression broke her heart. She shook her head sadly. "We're trying to find her, Roger, we really are. Benny doesn't know anything. From some strange reason, I believe him. Joanne suggested we'd spread some flayers in the area, so we planned to do it over the weekend. I dunno what to tell you, she just… disappeared."

Roger shook his head. "I shouldn't have gone."

"Hey…" she said softly and reached over to take his hands in hers. "Don't. Stop blaming yourself in everything. This is not your fault."

"It's cold, and she was never that strong."

"Yeah, I know. I keep thinking about it," she admitted. "We'll do whatever it takes, okay? Don't worry about it." She slowly let go of his hands when their order arrived. She wrapped her hands around her mug and watched Roger as he ate. When he was done, he gave her a look.

"You didn't eat anything."

"I did," she said, biting into a chocolate brownie. Roger cocked an eyebrow, obviously not buying that. "I'm not that hungry," she lied.

He looked at her skeptically, and slowly laid his fork aside. "How are you, Momo?"

"Fine." She sighed. Maybe she just had to let it go. "Far from fine."

"You and Jo still fighting?"

"Yeah. That and… other stuff," she said quickly, avoiding his eyes. She wasn't ready for the next thing he told her.

"Mark told me."

She stared at him, a bit confused. Surely he didn't mean… "Mark told you what?"

"He told me what happened that night, when Angel died," Roger said quietly, looking straight at her, as if he could see right through her. "You're not going to deny it happened, are you?"

"No," she whispered, looking away. Shit. They've never mentioned that night again. In fact, she avoided meeting Mark altogether in the past couple of months, fearing that the secret might surface in the worst timing, like when Joanne was around.

"What are you gonna do about it?"

"What do you mean? There's nothing _to_ do. It happened, it was a mistake, it won't happen again."

"So this is what it was? A mistake?"

"Of course," she said, doing her best to sound sure of herself.

"Because Mark doesn't seem to think that," Roger said matter-of-factly, but gave her that piercing look again.

"Roger…" she sighed, kind of desperately. Why wouldn't he just let it go? "Look, this is really pointless. I know what you're trying to do and I realize that Mark is your best friend and that you must stand for him. But trying to getting us back together is hardly the way to do that."

"Oh, _that_'s what I was trying to do?" he asked innocently. She gave him a look. "In case you forgot, you're my friend too," he said a bit more gently.

"If I'm your friend you'll respect it when I ask you to drop this issue."

He seemed to hesitate, but then he nodded. "Fine."

"Thank you."

"So do you wanna tell me what's up with you and Jo?"

"I don't know," she said, letting out a long, desperate sigh. "I don't know anything."

"It's not working, is it?" She looked away, surprised by his sharp observation. Or maybe he didn't have to be blessed with good instincts; maybe it was just obvious. "If you're not happy, why don't you end it?"

"Who said I wasn't happy?"

He gave her a look. "If this is how you look when you're happy, I really don't wanna be there when you're upset."

A smile curled on her lips, then quickly faded as an unfamiliar sense of insecurity washed over her. "I can't just… end it."

"Why not?"

She leaned her elbow against the table and laid her head on it. Why everything had to be so damn complicated?

"Look, someone must end it, and it better be you. I know you; you'll feel much worse if Joanne will be the one who'll end it."

"You think so?"

"I know so," he said, trying to hide a silly grin. "Besides, you dumped Mark a year ago, you should know the drill by now. Kind of makes it easier."

Great. She already came out with a reputation of a serial heart-breaker. She frowned. "Don't be a jerk, Roger."

"You know I'm kidding," he said seriously. "I just don't like what I see when I look at you. I've seen you happy, Maureen, and happy is definitely not what you are now. You'll feel much better once you end it."

Somehow, she doubted she would.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She couldn't believe it was Christmas again. She couldn't believe a year went by so fast. What was supposed to be their best year turned out to be their worst. Their family fell apart, and it seemed like there was very little they could do about it. The best option was sit aside and watch it happen. It wasn't supposed to end like that. It just wasn't fair.

"Maureen, are you coming? We're gonna be late!"

Joanne's hasty question shook her out of her reverie. She blinked and took one last glimpse in the mirror. Then she fixed her small wool hat on her head, buttoned her coat and left their bedroom, and followed Joanne out of the apartment. They were on their way to the loft for a special Christmas screening of Mark's film. He completed it couple of days before, but decided to wait until Christmas for viewing it because that was when Collins was supposed to get home. He moved out again, a bit after Mimi's disappearance, saying that he needed to figure some things out. For her it made sense he wanted to distance himself. He went through so much. But knowing her Collins, she knew he'd heal.

Whereas for her and Joanne, on the other hand, she was far from certain that they would. She glanced at her as they crossed the street silently, towards the park for their usual shortcut. She couldn't stop thinking about her conversation with Roger, the week before. She didn't have many opportunities to act up on it, though, because Joanne was hardly ever home, working overtime on a new case. But now… could she do this again? She kind of felt like she had to, but could she?

She wasn't happy, that was for sure. She couldn't ignore it for much longer. She couldn't lie to Joanne, or to herself. This was over. She took a deep breath. Here goes. "Jo?"

"Huh?" said Joanne, sort of absent-mindedly.

A slight moment of hesitation, but then it quickly faded. Courage. That was what it was all about. "We… we need to talk."


	20. Second Chance

**A/N: okay, so I was listening to both soundtracks before working on the opening scenes of this chapter (the stage version and the film) and watched the two scenes to get the hang of it. It ended up resembling none of them, so in case you find discrepancies there, I'm well aware of those. Consider it my personal contribution to the sequence of events, for the sake of the story :)**

**Please review! And happy holidays, everyone!**

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19- Second Chance **

"Jo, we need to talk."

Joanne glanced at her questionably and nodded. "I'm listening."

But now when she had Joanne's full attention, she didn't know where, or how, to begin. "Well, I… I've been thinking. About us."

"Ah-huh?"

God, this was even worse than the day she broke up with Mark. "I… don't know how to say this. I think we should-"

A gasp stopped her mid-sentence, and she looked up at Joanne, puzzled. Did she already guess it and was about to protest? It would make it even more difficult, trying to remain assertive. But then before she knew it, Joanne left her side and hurried forward along the path, towards what looked like a rumpled bundle of old blankets leaning against a tree at the side of the road. Her forehead cringed in confusion, and she wondered what the hell Joanne was-

She watched Joanne as she knelt by the bundle, and suddenly it dawned on her. She started running. She knelt next to Joanne, who was trying to speak with the young woman who sat there, shivering violently under the blanket.

"Mimi? Honey, it's Jo, can you hear me?"

"Mimi…" she whispered. She couldn't believe this was Mimi. Yeah, the features seemed to fit, but she looked so fragile, so thin- thinner than usual, that is. Her lips were in a sickly bluish color. She looked bad. Where has she been? Was she living in the street? For how long?

"Meems, come on, open your eyes, look at me," Joanne persisted, her voice pleading, filled with emotion. She knew that the same thought crossed their minds. They couldn't lose Mimi, too. Not when the painful memory of Angel's death was still so fresh in their minds.

They both held their breaths when Mimi's eyes fluttered open. It looked as if that alone was painful for her, but she managed a glance at them. She looked extremely disoriented, yet she seemed to recognize them. She opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't manage to utter more than a small sound before she was taken by a fit of coughs. Joanne turned to give her a look. It looked bad.

"That's okay, sweetie," she murmured, her panic rising. They must do something, and fast. They were running out of time. They must get Roger somehow. But they couldn't possibly leave Mimi there alone. She thought for a moment. They were halfway to the loft already. Could they carry her? She seemed to have lost a considerable weight, but she still doubted they could. But they had to. Roger should tell her… He couldn't lose Mimi, too.

"Meems, honey, do you think you can get up?" she asked, as gently as possible, as if she was addressing a small child.

Joanne turned to look at her as if she was crazy. "Maureen, we can't move her! She's so weak, we can accidentally hurt her or something."

"We can't leave her here, it's freezing and it looks like it's gonna snow. She needs heat, she needs some food. The guys will know what to do." Joanne didn't respond. She knew it meant she was right. "We need to get her to the loft," she insisted. Then she turned to Mimi again. "Honey, we want to help you. But you gotta help us too, okay?"

"So… tired…" Mimi muttered brokenly. A shiver went through her when a sudden image of dying April flashed through her mind. She shook it off. No more death; not this time.

"I know, honey, but you gotta trust us. You're safe with us. Everything's gonna be okay now."

Mimi shook her head. "No… Roger… away…" her voice trailed off as another fit of coughs shook her whole body.

"Honey, he's home," she said softly once the coughs stopped. There was the slightest change in Mimi's expression. Her eyes seemed more alert, but barely. She caressed her hair gently, slowly. "Roger's home. We can take you to the loft to see him, okay? Come on, sweetie, stand up," she said, helping Mimi to her feet. Joanne took off her coat and wrapped it around Mimi's body, letting the old blanket fall to the ground. She took off her gloves and slid them on Mimi's hands. That should keep her warm for a while.

She exchanged a glance with Joanne, and there was this spark of a renewed trust that passed between them. Yeah. They could do it.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The way to the loft never seemed so long. They half carried, half supported Mimi on their way. A small sigh of relief escape her lips when the old apartment building appeared across the bend of the street as they passed the corner. There was light in the top floor.

"There's no way we can carry her all the way up," said Joanne breathlessly.

She nodded as they came closer to the building. There was only one thing she could think of doing. "_Mark! Roger! Anyone, help!_"

It was a matter of seconds before a small figure went out to the fire-escape and looked down. "Maureen?" She heard Mark ask. Then he looked behind her, at Joanne, who was carrying Mimi. His expression changed instantly.

"It's Mimi! We can't get her up the stairs!"

As if Roger managed to hear her from inside the loft, he shot out to the fire-escape as well. She almost heard him gasp.

"Hurry up, _please_!" Joanne called up, adjusting her grip of Mimi.

This seemed to snap them out of it. Roger hurried back into the loft; Mark was soon to follow. It was Collins who emerged from the building first, and took Mimi in his arms. They hurried after him as he carried her upstairs into the loft. They tried to explain everything as they scurried around, trying to clear out some room for her. She was living on the street… shivering… heat… needs more… a doctor… _cold, cold, would you light my candle…?_

The couch seemed too small, so did the armchair. Her eyes caught sight of the metal table, and she motioned Joanne towards it. Joanne nodded, obviously taking the hint, and she snatched a blanket from the back of the couch and spread it on the table. Roger, that at some point took Mimi from Collins, now laid her gently on the table, whispering comforting words in her ear. He took his jacket off and covered her with it, then carefully sat there beside her. She was still shivering, badly, but at least she was safe. They'd take care of her now.

They stepped aside, as if by a silent agreement to let Roger and Mimi have a moment. She tried to stop herself from watching them, but she couldn't. Her eyes kept wandering over to the table. Roger was holding Mimi tightly in his arms, as if he'd never let her go. God, she hoped he didn't have to.

She looked away, and her gaze locked with Mark's.

Her heart skipped a beat. She was almost afraid to turn away her gaze. This was the first direct contact they made in weeks, ever since that night Angel died, and that kiss. He looked anxious, worried for Mimi's fate, as they all were. And there was something else there, too, she then realized. That optimistic spark that was always there seemed to fade away. He didn't look so naïve anymore. It was as if he matured overnight. Well, maybe not overnight, but the last couple of months definitely started taking their toll.

_I should tell you, I… love… you…_

She shook her head, sending the words away. No. She couldn't do this. Not now, not ever. It would just be one of those mistakes, one of those horrible mistakes one made and could never take back. Shouldn't even think about this. Need distraction-

Someone took her hand. She raised her head, startled, thinking it might be Mark. Her eyes met Joanne's, who gave her hand a little squeeze. There were tears in her eyes. Disappointment… _no_, shouldn't feel that way, that's Joanne. Love her. Unhappy. Love _him_. Must end it, must tell him, I should tell-

"_Mimi!_" Roger's voice pierced the air, tormented and heart-breaking. He held Mimi's limp body close to his chest, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

It didn't seem to do much help. Her head dropped against his shoulder.

It looked like the moment she feared from. And it felt as if Roger realized it as well. He let out a wailing sound, dreadful, like a wounded animal. It was a sound of deep pain and frustration; a sound that was probably locked in from that far away day when he lost April as well. No one dared speaking, moving, not even breathing, as he rocked Mimi's lifeless body from side to side, sobbing quietly into her shoulder. The air stood still, as they sat aside and let Roger mourn his loss.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She could feel them, warm against the skin of her face. She could taste their saltiness. She didn't bother to wipe them off. You would expect she'd get used to it by now. Apparently, there was no getting used to losing your loved ones. Joanne's grip on her hand tightened. She raised her head to look at her, and realized that Joanne, too, was crying. Joanne rarely cried. That is, before they lost Angel. And then when they did, it was as if she softened up a bit, as she started to show more emotion. She looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. She almost forgot her initial intentions to put an end to their relationship, when they left the apartment earlier. It seemed so long ago. Did she lose her chance to act up on that? It felt as if so much has happened ever since. Did she still wanted to do this? She wasn't sure anymore.

A soft rustle, a gasp, a cough. None of them, she realized, raising her head instantly. A sigh of relief escaped her as she shot out of her seat, in unison with the rest of them, it seemed. They were standing around the table now, as Mimi regained consciousness, slowly sitting up.

"I was… in a tunnel. Heading for this warm, white light," Mimi said hoarsely yet surprisingly coherent, as if she wasn't so close to dying a moment ago. Amazingly enough, she looked okay, as if the last month or so never existed. The color of her lips looked normal, she wasn't shivering as badly as before, her eyes glistened with recognition and life. "And I swear… Angel was there!" she exclaimed. Then she turned to look at Collins, whose heartbrokenness appeared in his expression. "And she looked _good_!" Mimi added, as if to assure them of Angel's safety. They laughed. It was a short, uncertain laughter, as if it was necessary to lose some tension. "And she said… 'turn around, girlfriend, and listen to that boy's song'," she concluded, looking straight at Roger with so much love in her eyes.

"You're drenched," Roger murmured, his face lightening up with a slow, beautiful smile of relief.

She stepped forward, laying a hand on Mimi's forehead. "Her fever's breaking," she informed Roger, her voice quiet, soft, a smile similar to his curling on her lips.

"Thank God," murmured Joanne, from over her shoulder.

"Is there anything we can get you, honey?" Collins asked Mimi, who laid her head against Roger's chest.

"We need to keep her warm," Joanne said, shivering slightly. It _was_ cold in the loft, but now she hardly felt it.

"I'll make you some tea, okay?" she told Mimi, who slowly nodded. She turned away from them and walked to the kitchen area, getting everything ready. The guys were still talking back there, their voices low but still audible. As she reached for a spoon, she realized her hands were shaking. She dropped the spoon and closed her eyes, forcing herself to take couple of deep breaths as she leaned against the counter.

"You okay?"

She turned, startled, to meet Mark's questioning eyes. She nodded briefly and went back to what she was doing. She expected him to grab whatever it was that he needed and go back to the living-room, but instead he stayed and started helping her.

She knew everything was getting back to normal when she heard Roger and Collins' voices, louder this time, as they were beginning to tease each other over something she couldn't quite hear. A small smile curled on her lips. Yeah. Everything would be just fine.

She didn't realize how distracted she became by the sound of his voices, that by the next step she took towards the sink, she bumped into Mark, who was about to go in the opposite direction. She murmured a quick apology just at the same second he did, and looked away, her cheeks burning. What the hell was wrong with her? She was acting ridiculous, really, she did. It was so incredibly childish. Ugh. She knew it wouldn't stop until they'd talk about what happened there. Okay, it was possible it wouldn't stop even then, but at least things would be less awkward.

"Mark-" "Maureen-" They said in unison.

She smiled. So did he. That broke the ice a bit. "Go ahead," she said, softer than she intended.

"No, you go ahead," replied Mark. "Ladies first," he added, blushing slightly.

"Okay," she nodded, considering her next words. Should she apologize? Or maybe justify her actions that night? Wait a minute… _her_ actions? He was there too; he could have stopped her at any point! "Well, there's this unresolved issue from a while ago, I just wanted to make sure… you were okay with it," she half said, half asked that last part.

"Maureen-" he started, but she raised her hand in protest to stop him.

"Mark, please let me finish," she asked. She didn't like the way it sounded, but she just wanted to get it over with. Besides, if he'd stop her now she'd lose her courage. And it had to be said. She had to get it out of her system. She sighed. "Look, I don't feel comfortable with this. The last thing I meant was to lead you on like that. And I should have said that before. _Way_ before. I'm sorry I didn't."

"So what you're saying is that it meant nothing," he said slowly, carefully looking at her.

"That's what I'm saying," she replied, doing her best to look into his eyes. The faster she'd make herself believe in it the better.

"Okay."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She didn't expect him to go on his knees and beg her to reconsider, but she definitely wasn't expecting him to accept it so indifferently. "Okay?"

"I kind of realized… that if we left it unresolved the way we did, this was how you felt. So yeah, I had some time to get used to this."

"So… that's it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it'?"

"Issue resolved? We can leave this behind and forget it ever happened?" she asked kind of hesitantly. It sounded so self-centered; as if she used him and now all she wanted was to get away with clear conscience.

There was a short pause, after which Mark said, "You can't keep doing this, you know." She looked at him questionably. "You can't leave behind everything you can't deal with and pretend everything's okay just because it's easier."

"I thought we just had that thing covered."

"No, you just wanted to make sure I was okay with it, so you could feel less guilty."

"That's not true," she protested. She hated when he did that. No one could ever read what was on her mind as well as he could.

"If that's not true, why didn't we have this conversation before? Why waiting all this time to raise this issue again? You said it yourself, you didn't feel comfortable with things as they were, so you just thought you'd come over here, say what you had to say, and that's it. Mission complete, conscience clear, maybe now you'll sleep better," he said dryly, sarcastically, his eyes cold.

"That's not fair!"

"Don't talk to me about fairness, Maureen! If anything, _I'm_ the one who should be offended here!"

"Shh, keep your voice down!" she hissed. The last thing she needed was for Joanne to step in on their conversation. One glance at her assured her Joanne was well-occupied, watching Mimi who was napping on the couch.

Mark's gaze followed hers; then he looked back at her, looking disgusted. "Oh, now I get it," he said, his voice dripping with malice. Well, she kind of deserved it, she guessed. But it still hurt. She felt like crying.

"Mark, please don't do this." Why he felt compelled to argue with her all of a sudden? Now of all times he felt the need to answer back? "Look, I just wanted to apologize, is that so wrong?"

"You know what, I don't care anymore."

"You're just saying this now because you're upset."

"No, seriously, I'm sick and tired of these games, Maureen. You can't have your way every time, things just don't work that way!"

"Hey, Cohen!" Collins' voice evaded their conversation, kind of abruptly. Her head shot up. Did they hear any of this? But looking back, she could see they were all still in the living-room, a safe distance away. "Are we gonna watch this masterpiece of yours or what?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in a second!" replied Mark, a hint of annoyance evident in his voice. Then after a moment, he looked back at her. His eyes were cold and serious. "Don't let it bother you. Issue resolved. The next time you want to handle things your way, just leave me out of it." With that, he turned his back on her and left.

She just stood there for a moment, watching him join the guys. Things didn't turn out the way she planned. Sure, she didn't expect him to be all thrilled by what she had to say, but she surely wasn't expecting him to speak to her so nastily the way he just did. And the worst part was… that as much as she hated to admit it, he actually had a point. Her motives were mostly selfish. But she didn't think that talking it out would help her sleep better, as Mark was saying. On the contrary, it seemed that this conversation they had just had was about to keep her awake for a long, long time.

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She was watching the flickering images on the screen, scenes from their lives in the tumult of the last year or so. Her protest, New Years, a hot summer day on the roof, the guys in Life Support, a dinner party at the Life Café… It all seemed so long ago. It made her feel so old.

Her eyes wandered over to the couch, occupied by Roger and Mimi. Her head was leaning against his chest and he held her close, as if to make sure he wouldn't lose her again. She smiled at the image they made. She was glad they got their second chance. She turned to look at Mark, who was standing by the projector, his arms crossed on his chest. His forehead cringed in concentration, and his eyes narrowed slightly, as he was looking critically on the screen. She knew how much he disliked viewing his films to other people, which was why she was surprised by his initiating this screening in the first place.

She shook her head, letting out a sigh. She didn't mean for their conversation to take the nasty direction it did. Really, she didn't. Now she'd have to apologize for that, too. But not right away. She'd let him be for a while, if this was what he wanted. It would allow things to cool down for a while. She needed some time away as well. She had to figure out what the hell she wanted. Her gaze wandered from Mark to Joanne, who was looking at the screen as well. It showed a series of shots of the two of them, feeding one another cotton candy in the park. She could hardly recognize herself. Caught in the middle of a fit of wild giggles, she looked so happy. Could it be from such a short time ago? When did it stop being like that?

Maybe she was rushing things. So they had couple of bad months. Every couple had it every once in a while, right? Breaking up over a little thing like that would be just silly and harsh. She was just being impulsive, as always. She just had to give it another chance. Maybe if they'd try again…

She looked from Joanne to Mark, and back to Joanne, and made up her mind. She _would_ give it another chance. She'd show him she was better, she was different. She'd show him she wasn't the egocentric, manipulative bitch he implied she was. She would prove him wrong. Besides, everything worked better when given a second chance. Look at Roger and Mimi.

Yeah, she thought, a victorious smile slowly curling on her lips. She'd show him.


	21. Maybe This Time

**A/N: Just to clear things out, disclaimer-wise, I shamelessly borrowed a scene from the movie _Kissing Jessica Stein_. I changed it here and there, but originally it's not mine. The chapter's title and some lyrics below are from _Cabaret_. Enjoy! Please review! **

**20- Maybe This Time**

"No."

Joanne shook her head, sighing desperately. "Maureen, please don't make it harder than it already is."

"I don't understand. How can you say that to me?" she asked. It felt as if the room was closing in on her. Her heart was beating twice as fast than it normally did. Her nerves were running wild, making her dizzy. She had to sit down.

"Honey, calm down and just listen to what I have to say. You know I'm right," Joanne said, her voice calm and even. Her face remained pretty much expressionless, although the sadness was clearly reflected in her eyes.

"Why?" she whispered.

Joanne sat by her side. "Because it's not working," she said softly.

She promised she'd let Joanne speak, but listening to all that, she couldn't remain indifferent. She had to make her voice heard. "What do you mean? How can you say that? Can't we just talk about this?" she asked brokenly, her voice shaking, her eyes filled with tears.

"Honey, we talk all the time," Joanne pointed out.

"Well, isn't it a good thing? Conversation is a key to successful relationships!"

"True, but it's not enough."

"What else can you possibly want?" She was actually crying now, but she didn't care. She had never felt so betrayed in her entire life. From the moment she decided to give their relationship a second chance, about three months before, she had done everything she could to make it work. Joanne's decision to break up came so out of the blue, catching her completely off-guard. It felt as if her life was tearing apart in front of her eyes. It seemed she couldn't do much, but watch as it happened.

"I want a relationship. A real one. I want love, and lust, and-"

She stared at Joanne incredulously. She couldn't believe her ears. "Don't we have all that?"

Joanne gave her a reproaching look. "When was the last time we had sex?"

"The last time? I don't… I mean… couple of weeks ago?" she stammered weakly. It was a wild guess. She couldn't believe she didn't remember such a thing. Joanne, on the other hand, seemed to be anticipating her reaction, judging by the look on her face. "But it was good, wasn't it?" she asked, trying to put together the remainders of her lost dignity.

"You drank a whole bottle of wine," Joanne replied, giving her that look again.

"That's _not_ true! I drank one glass, two at most!" she protested.

"Maureen, what we have is a friendship."

Every word stung. She looked at Joanne incredulously. "How can you say that to me? I _love_ you!"

"I love you too, this isn't the issue."

"Well, what _is_ the issue? I've never cheated on you. I thought we had something. We _live_ together, for God's sake, does that mean nothing to you?"

"We're roomies! We're best friends!"

"What's so wrong about that?" she asked desperately. She really couldn't understand what was it she did wrong.

"There's nothing wrong about that, it's just not enough. I want more, and you deserve more."

"I can't believe this is happening," she whispered, looking away. She felt like such a failure.

Joanne sighed, and moved to sit closer before she could resist. "Maureen, you're great. You're pretty and funny and intelligent, and you changed so much in the past year in a way I've never thought you'd be able to." She didn't pull away when Joanne took her hand. "This is painful to me too, but one of us had to end this. I know it sounds cliché, but I'd really like us to remain friends. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you want, I won't kick you out. But this… you and me… this is over."

She couldn't speak. She couldn't do anything. Her silent tears turned into an actual crying as she buried her head in her hands. She had never felt so helpless in her life. She hated it. She couldn't help but thinking back of Roger's words from three months ago; _you'll feel much worse if Joanne will be the one who'll end it_. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

She didn't even realize she asked that aloud, until she heard Joanne's soft reply. "Well, you can start by listening to your heart." She raised her head, looking at Joanne, her vision blurred with tears. Joanne said nothing; she reached over and pulled her necklace out of its hiding place, behind the collar of her sweater, her fingers lingering on the ring that hung on it. "Go to him. We both know the truth."

She stared at her ex-girlfriend, speechless. She never mentioned anything about it to Joanne before; somehow she always managed to avoid a direct answer regarding the history of the ring. "How did you-"

Joanne laughed softly, slowly letting go of the ring. "Maureen, I'm not stupid, or blind. I simply put two and two together. _Always, M_? There's only one M I can think of who'd say such a thing to you."

She laughed bitterly and wiped her tears. "He'll never take me back."

Joanne shook her head, her eyes confident. "Yes, he will. If he's smart enough. You won't know until you'll try, right?"

"I guess." She sighed. This emotional outburst of hers left her completely worn-out. "I feel so stupid."

"Don't. This is for the best. You just don't see it yet," said Joanne, caressing her cheek. Even this small motion hurt.

"I gotta get out of here," she murmured, getting up. Joanne said nothing, just nodded and watched her as she slipped into her jacket, grabbed her purse and keys, and left their apartment.

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She wandered through the streets and eventually found herself in the park. She really didn't intend to end up there. She dropped herself on a bench and released a breath she didn't even know she was holding. Her head was throbbing from crying, and there was this pain in her feet; she walked so far so fast, she didn't even realize it. She just had to get away. She found a tissue in her pocket and blew her nose with it. Slowly, gradually, she calmed down.

She couldn't believe it actually happened, that she and Joanne broke up for real. But instead of feeling liberated or relieved, she actually felt kind of bad. She was exhausted from crying, completely drained from energy, and on top of everything else, hopeless and confused. Her mind was racing. She had to look for a place to stay. Joanne said she could stay at the apartment for a while, but she didn't want to do that. It would hurt too much, for both of them. She had some money; she was sure she'd manage to find a decent place for a while. The idea of apartment-hunt was less bothersome at this point. There was this other thing that was bugging her now.

_Go to him. We both know the truth. _

Joanne's voice echoed in her ears. She couldn't believe she actually told her that, yet at the same time she loved her for that. If anything, it made her more confident about this step she had to take. But what if it was too late to take it? No matter what Joanne said, Mark would never take her back, not after everything that happened. They hardly ever spoke again after Christmas. Whenever she came over to the loft it was mostly to hang out with Roger or Mimi. Mark was hardly around; mostly, he was out looking for footage for his next documentary. When he was home, he either ignored her or treated her coldly. Roger tried to question her about it whenever they were alone, but she always managed to take the conversation elsewhere. There was really no point talking about it.

She took off her necklace and released the ring, toying with it between her fingers. She looked thoughtfully at the inscription, the words that didn't even escape Joanne, but even that didn't seem so promising anymore. What if 'always' was no longer so? Mark was obviously over her, and she seriously believed she was over him too. Apparently, she wasn't. But she wouldn't be able to soften him with a pout or a heart-melting smile. He was definitely over that stage. How was she going to make him change him mind? How could she make him realize she was-

She got up in sudden determination she didn't know she still had. She'd go there and tell him everything. In the worst case, he'd kick her out. She had nothing to lose. Except for her dignity, maybe, but it kind of felt as if she didn't have a lot of it left. Before she could think better of it, she chose the path that led to the loft.

She wasn't there for over a month now. New Years brought new opportunities for all of them. Mimi had just gotten back to the Cat Scratch and was working mostly nights because she was taking some morning courses in the nearby community college. They were all very proud of her for finally following her New Year resolutions. Roger found a job as a bartender. He hated it, but they needed the money after Mark left Buzzline and Collins was away again. She had couple of performances in the pub Roger was working at, which gave her a chance to make some money and practice her material on a live audience. So they were all working their asses off, but at least their lives were finally going back to the right track… or something pretty close to it.

She hesitated by the door, then raised her hand to knock on it. She fidgeted nervously, her hand clutching the ring tightly. There was a soft rustle of approaching feet, then a jingle of keys. She stopped her breath as the door opened.

She stared.

A strange woman was standing on the doorway, looking at her questionably. "Yes?"

It took a moment before she found her way with words again. "I'm, uhh… looking for Mark," she said weakly, her mind racing, trying to figure out who the hell was this woman.

"Sure, come in. Mark? It's for you!" the stranger called. She couldn't make out Mark's reply, from somewhere down the hall.

She stepped in hesitantly, still looking suspiciously at the woman. She looked her age, a bit younger maybe. She looked pretty good, too; big brown eyes, long, honey-colored hair. She felt so dull next to her with her hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail and her swollen, puffy eyes. She was about to inquire who the stranger was when Mark suddenly appeared in the living-room, pulling a T-shirt over his head. She stared at him incredulously as what she had just witnessed quickly sank in. There was only one explanation to this. She lost her chance.

"Mo, what are you doing here?" he asked, approaching her. He seemed surprised to see her there, but not the least embarrassed.

"I needed to…" she started, but soon her voice trailed off. "I see I came in a bad time though," she said, turning her gaze from Mark to the stranger.

Mark didn't seem to get it. "Oh, I don't think you met Nadia yet. Nadia, this is Maureen Johnson, she's a friend of ours. Mo, this is Nadia, she's my-"

"Look, I really gotta go," she cut him off quickly. She didn't think she could handle hearing him say it. Not after everything that already happened that day. He gave her a strange look. "I just… wanted to…" Feeling new tears forming in the corners of her eyes, she thrust the ring into his hands and hurried out. She could hear him calling after her, but she didn't turn back. She had seen enough.

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She had no idea where she was running. It didn't matter, as long as it was as far away from the loft as possible. The wind blew against her face, drying her tears, which was a good thing. She was sick and tired of crying. She didn't want to think about what had just happened there, she just wanted to get away. Deep down, she was scorning herself. Was she _really_ expecting him to sit and wait for her? Why would he, after everything? How could she blame him for finally finding someone else? She really wished him happiness and all that, but… man, speaking of bad timing.

She couldn't run anymore. She leaned against a wall, waiting for her breath to steady. She needed just a moment to take in her surroundings. The Life Café was just around the corner. She didn't want to go in there. She didn't want to risk bumping into someone she knew. A sudden breeze made her snuggle into her jacket. The sun would be down soon. It was getting cold. She'd better get going.

Her feet entangled with something, almost knocking her to the ground. Luckily she held on to the wall before she lost her balance. Letting out a soft curse, she knelt down to release herself from whatever the hell was this thing that was on her way.

Just an old copy of the _Village Voice_. She was about to kick it out of her way when something in the corner of the page caught her attention. She hesitated for a moment before she took the paper, which was something she would never have done under any other circumstances. She looked at the ad more closely. _Cabaret Tour: Audition Day!_ The red letters announced. The date at the bottom of the ad was right. She glanced at the address. On 42nd street, naturally. She frowned. There was no way she'd get there on time. But then again, what were the odds for her to see this ad on time? On the same day the auditions took place? That must have meant something. Besides… what did she have to lose? Everything else was so fucked up, maybe it meant that Broadway was finally ready for her.

Before she could think better of it, she ripped off the page with the ad, stuffed it in her purse and hurried towards the subway.

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She found the theater pretty easily. She had never been there before. It looked kind of deserted, so she assumed the auditions were over by now. Nonetheless the front door was open, and from where she was standing in the street, she could see a faint light coming from the inside. As she was already late, she thought there was no harm in taking a moment to do something about her messy appearance. She found some makeup in her purse and released her hair from its ponytail, combing it with her fingers to give it some shape. Then, mustering every piece of self-confidence she still had left, she stepped into the theater.

"Hello?" Her voice echoed as she walked in. The cleaning-lady in the lobby said there were still several men in there, although the auditions ended hours ago.

"What can we do for you, young lady?" A voice asked from within the darkness. It was deep and intimidating.

She felt as if she was taken into the principle's office. She hesitated for a moment, knowing what she wanted to say might be considered as pushing her luck, but then she swallowed her fear and flashed a sweet smile in the direction from which the voice came, and said, "I'm here for the auditions."

"I'm sorry, but we got what we wanted for today. You'll have to go back next time."

"Which is when?" she asked kind of innocently.

The voice smirked. "The next production. I would suggest you'll check your watch by then, or you might be late for that one as well."

She wouldn't take offence. She was stronger than that. This was show-business. Her dream. She wouldn't let him scare her off. "I came down here the moment I heard about the auditions. Is it possible to… I dunno, make an exception or something?"

"Honey, if I was to make an exception whenever a young, naïve, wannabe actress missed auditions, we would have ended up way beyond our schedule."

"Yes, I understand that, sir, I just…" her voice trailed off. She just had to face it. She missed another chance. "Thank you for your time," she whispered, turning to go. Tears of frustration burnt in the corners of her eyes.

The faceless voice stopped her just as she was about to go out to the lobby. "What would you like to sing?"

She froze, a slow smile curling on her lips, sending desperation away. Maybe there was still hope. But then the smile faded when she realize she didn't have any song ready. She turned to face the darkness again. "Actually, I didn't-" she started.

There was a chuckle. "So I thought. Why don't you sing us something from the show itself, how about that?" There was a pause. "You do know songs from _Cabaret_, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she said quietly. She didn't intend to come out _that_ clueless.

"Well, go ahead then. That's Josh down there, by the piano. Why don't we try Don't Tell Mama? That's an easy one, isn't it?"

Ugh. She loved that song. There was something so sassy and seductive about it that fit her perfectly. Today she felt like neither. She doubted she could give them a convincing performance when she felt like shit. But on the other hand… wasn't that what acting was all about? She could do it, she told herself as she walked downstairs and hopped onstage, which was lit by a single spotlight. She smiled at the guy called Josh as the voice in the shadows told him which song they were about to hear, and he quickly found the right music sheet. She had a moment more to get a grip, pull off her best drama queen smile, and do her thing.

She thought she did well when Josh hit the final note. She stood breathless in the middle of the empty stage, looking expectedly into the darkness, trying to make out the face she knew was back there, somewhere. Looking straight ahead was almost impossible, given that spotlight that kept blinding her. There was tensed silence, interrupted only by the sound of flipping pages. Someone lit a cigarette; she could see the momentary flash of light, then the smoke as it melted into the darkness.

"What did you say your name was?" asked the voice, blank and neutral.

Was that a good sign? "I didn't. It's Maureen Johnson," she said, moving her weight from one foot to the other impatiently. She glanced at Josh, but she doubted he knew better than she did as for her chances. It made her feel exposed, just standing there, knowing that they could see her while she couldn't see them.

"Is this your first time in an audition, Maureen?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have absolutely no experience?"

"Well, I perform with my own stuff every now and then, if that counts as experience. Not on Broadway, though." Her heart was racing. Would it ruin her chances?

"Because this was pretty good. Probably better than most girls we heard on this stage today."

_Yes!_ "Thank you, sir," she said. She couldn't stop herself from smiling gratefully.

"Would you mind trying another song for us?"

"Not at all."

"How about Maybe This Time?" Josh was already flipping through his music sheets, looking for the right page. "Whenever you're ready," the voice said.

There was no acting this time. No other song could describe better what she was feeling at the moment. It felt as if every word was written just for her.

_Maybe this time I'll be lucky, maybe this time he'll stay_

_Maybe this time, for the first time, love won't hurry away…_

She was gaining more confidence as the song progressed. It was as if all her pain somehow found its way into her singing, making it all the more powerful. Her voice echoed through the theater, surrounding her, filling her with new confidence. The words couldn't have been more precise.

_Everybody loves a winner so nobody loves me_

_Lady Peaceful, Lady Happy- that's what I long to be_

_All the odds are in my favor, something's bound to begin_

_It's gotta happen, happen sometime, maybe this time_

_Maybe this time I'll win…_

Again, this hateful silence. It brought back doubt and uncertainties. Did she suck? It didn't feel like it. She really had something she could base herself on, unlike the previous song he asked her to do. Jeez, why wouldn't he say something?

"Well, Miss Johnson," said the voice. She tensed and looked into the darkness once again. "Officially I'm not allowed to say anything before the results next week, but unofficially…" She held her breath. "Welcome to Broadway."

A squeal escaped her before she could hold it back. She felt like running up there to give him a hug, but the last thing she wanted was screwing up her chances again. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."

"Leave your name and phone number with my secretary and we'll contact you about rehearsals' schedule." The voice sounded closer now, as a bald, small man stepped into the light. He didn't look as intimidating as his voice sounded. She felt silly for letting his voice have such an affect on her in the first place. She waved goodbye to Josh and hopped offstage, to meet the man halfway. "Good luck," he said, a small, almost unnoticeable smile visible in the corner of his lips.

"Thank you," she smiled back and hurried outside.

She stepped out to the street again, where the sun was slowly descending, coloring the sky in soft, almost blinding shade of orange. She felt like dancing. The remainders of sadness quickly faded into happiness, satisfaction, hope. Her lips curled into a huge grin as she ran all the way home.

Maybe this time she'd win.


	22. Miss Lonely

**A/N: Belated Happy New Year, everyone! I hope that people are still following this in spite of the problems the site seems to have with its alerts (again)… please don't let it stop you from reviewing, k?**

**On a sadder note, the day has come- Idina Menzel left Wicked! So this chapter is, once again, dedicated to her.**

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21- Miss Lonely **

Joanne wasn't home when she stormed in an hour or so later; probably had to be in court. She closed the door and turned slowly to face the empty apartment. Loneliness echoed from every wall. The pain of several hours before came rushing back as her adrenaline faded, and a sigh escaped her as reality crawled back in. She went straight into the bedroom to pack her stuff, then walked into the kitchen, figuring she'd need some stuff to get through the first couple of days or so. Once she was done with that, she wandered around the apartment to make sure she didn't leave anything behind. She had no intention going back there, ever. She was going to start over, no regrets, no looking back. She left the apartment keys in the mailbox downstairs, but didn't attach any note. She knew Joanne would understand.

It was dark when she stepped out of the building eventually, but still kind of early. Following the plan she had made earlier, she took a cab uptown, where she rented a room in the most decent-looking motel she could afford. She had some money thanks for some savings that she managed to have, and the payment from her last performance. She did her best ignoring the chill in the room as she curled on the shabby mattress under the thin covers. She'd start looking for an apartment tomorrow, she told herself. Right now, she just wanted to close her eyes and get this day over with. In spite of the cold, the pain, the heartbrokenness, deep inside, she couldn't help but feel satisfied. This was what she always wanted, after all. This was why she came to New York in the first place. It was finally happening. And with that in her mind, exhaustion finally took over, as she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

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She didn't get the lead.

Well, not that she expected it to get it with no experience and acting so unprofessional in this whole audition thing. No matter how well she did on her audition eventually, she knew that the chances she'd get any significant part were extremely low. But she did expect to get _some_ part, at least as a part of the chorus. When the cast list was posted at the theater a week later, her first reaction was slight confusion and even bigger disappointment when she couldn't find her own name on it. There must have been some sort of mistake, she told herself. Maybe she was too excited after her audition to interpret correctly the man's enthusiasm. Maybe she was too naïve to realize it didn't necessarily mean she was in. Maybe he was just making fun of her innocence and lack of experience. He did try it before. But it didn't _feel_ as if he was mocking her in any way, and he did say-

_There_ it was.

Down there… even beneath the chorus. That meant something really small and insignificant, didn't it? She read it slowly. _Understudy for Melody Banks- Maureen Johnson_. Melody Banks. Didn't she read the name before? Her eyes wandered over the list again. Yeah, there she was, at the top of the list. She was the one who got the lead. Her name was slightly familiar, too. She thought she saw her in a talk-show once, but she wasn't sure; she couldn't remember her face. But that was hardly the point now. She was a fuckin' _understudy_? How could she possibly become a part of the theater world if all she was expected to do was to be on standby every night and practically do nothing? She felt so frustrated, so stupid. She actually believed that this time would be different for her. But then she decided that being all upset about it was kind of pointless. She was in. After one audition. For other people it took months, if not years, to get any role on Broadway. And she could learn a thing or two just from watching, maybe more than she could on actual acting. Yeah, she thought as she left the theater. She'd be okay.

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Chicago was their first stop.

After months of rehearsals it was finally happening. Her first show, even if technically she wasn't an actual part of it. She did get the chance to replace Melody during rehearsals several times, since Al, the director, wanted to make sure she knew her lines and choreography in case something went wrong. She gave everything into the role during those rehearsals, all she had. Judging from Al's reaction, he seemed to have liked that, which boosted her ego a bit more. Finally, she felt complete with what she was doing. This was what she always wanted to do. And she loved every second of it.

The cast and crew were really great, but she knew it might change several months into the tour when boredom and exhaustion would start taking their toll. She spent most of her time in the company of people from the chorus, some dancers too. She loved those guys. They were all extremely talented, and funny, and the best guys to hang out with after a long day of rehearsals. They were almost like a family. She found herself constantly comparing them with her other family, the one she left behind in the Village.

It turned out that she did know Melody Banks. It was her whom she saw at that talk-show. She was a brilliant actress, and a marvelous dancer, there was no doubt about that, but she had a serious problem with her attitude. Melody was your typical prima-dona. Her previous performance in a musical earned her a Tony nomination, and although she didn't get it eventually, her superiority implied otherwise. She did little efforts to be nice to everyone; unless being spoken to, she hardly ever spoke to anyone, except for Al or the producers, or Joey Silverstone, for obvious reasons.

Joey's name was well-known on the stages of Broadway as much as Melody's name was, and they have known each other from previous productions and parties the two of them attended. Not being as snobbish as Melody, Joey seemed to draw everyone's attention, not just the girls', and of course, she couldn't remain indifferent to him. The guy was handsome and attractive. But she decided not to act on it, for the time being. True, it was somewhat unusual for her, and the temptation was enormous, but she felt that she had to be alone for a while, at least until the scars would heal. She had enough relationship-issues for a lifetime. So she didn't flirt with him like she normally would have done, she never answered his suggestive innuendoes with more than a smile, and she tried not to be around him altogether.

Which was why she was so surprised that once, during their stay in Seattle, he walked over to her after a performance and asked her out for a drink.

Against her better judgment, she went out with him. It was almost impossible not to let her defenses drop. He was a true ladies' man, charming and extremely irresistible, and she just felt so lonely. There was this void in her heart that had to be filled. Joey was just the guy for the task. They managed to keep the quickly-developing love-affair a secret for a while. She didn't give a damn about what their colleagues, Melody included, would think, but she preferred to keep away from the headlines for a while. She was determined to defend her privacy as long as she possibly could.

She didn't love him. She knew as much. And he didn't love her either. But they were good together. They had a great time. Falling asleep knowing he was there made her feel safe. Above all things, it kept away the past. But they were nights when she found herself awake hours after Joey fell asleep, his arms protectively wrapped around her, gazing into the darkness, waiting for slumber to take hold on her, but it didn't. Those sleepless nights were when she felt the loneliest. She had everything, but at the same time she had nothing. She finally got what she wanted, but she wasn't as happy as she thought she should have been, yet on the other hand she wasn't miserable either. Life just felt sort of… well… empty.

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It was raining heavily by the time they got to California. It was the beginning of the winter, but she hardly felt the cold. She was immune to it, after living all those years in the Village with hardly any heat. She got accustomed to living on the road. Rootlessness was sad at times, almost frightening, but at the same time there was something really cool about it; she got to see places she never thought she'd get chances to visit at. They were doing the show for several months now, and the responses were great wherever they went. At some point she became a part of the chorus, which gave her something to do. She got really bored from just sitting backstage, doing nothing.

The sound of ringing pierced the chilly morning air, waking her at once. Joey grunted in protest as she released herself from his embrace to reach for the phone.

"Hello…" she murmured huskily, sitting up.

"Maureen. Morning. It's Al."

Even if he wouldn't have said his name, she could have guessed. Al was one of the most practical people she ever encountered. His sentences were always short, calculated, as if he didn't want waste any time speaking.

"What time is it?" she asked, yawning. Joey sat up as well, looking somewhat agitated. He hated to be woken up that way.

"It's early. Look, something came up. I need you in the theater as soon as you can get here."

It sounded urgent. There was this slight panic in his voice. "What's up?"

"Melody is down with bronchitis. The doctor just walked out of her room. It looks bad; she can hardly speak."

"What are you saying, Al?" she asked, heart racing, as the meaning of the situation slowly sank in.

"You know what I'm saying. You're standby for Sally, you're gonna do the lead tonight. I need you at the theater to make sure the costumes still fit and to do a quick sound check with the orchestra. We'll get everyone else for a dress rehearsal later today, but just be here as soon as you can, say… half an hour?"

"I'm on my way," she said, her mind everywhere. She hung up and just sat there, staring at nothing in particular. She needed a moment to get herself together. It was finally happening; she was about to get her chance.

She was terrified.

"What is it, Baby?"

She blinked and looked behind her. Joey looked at her questionably. Sitting there against the bed-board, wearing nothing from his waist up, he was every girl's fantasy.

She was surprised to realize how little affect it had on her.

"That was Al," she said, in case he didn't yet realize that. "Melody is sick. She can't perform tonight."

"Oh." It didn't sound as if he got her point. His look was empty, as if he wasn't quite up yet. "What is it to you?"

She gave him a look. "I'm her understudy," she said slowly. "Al asked me to get to the theater as soon as possible."

"Well, I think I'm gonna stay here for a while," he said through a yawn and stretched lazily, then snuggled back into the covers.

She slid out of bed silently. She wasn't expecting any cheers or parades, but she hoped for good luck or something of the sort. It _was_ going to be her first time in front of a live audience. Her whole future career was depended on this one night. By remaining so indifferent to her news, Joey just… sort of dismissed the importance of it. Instead of calming her down, as any other normal boyfriend would have done, he actually made her panic increase. And she really didn't need that. She needed someone who would support her, someone who would be happy for her, someone like… like-

She shook her head and stuck it under the steaming water, trying to get rid of the image that floated in front of her eyes. She just wouldn't think about it. There were other things to consider right now. A small, unconscious smile curled on her lips.

The diva was about to get her stage.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She had never believed that there was such a thing as an overnight success. How could there be such a thing? It sounded like a sappy, romantic cliché, something that happened only on fairy-tales and chick-flicks.

She thought she started to believe it now.

The first night of the show with her in the leading role was described by the reporters as sensational. She did it for over a week, until Melody got completely better, and the audience kept asking for more. This was new to her, and extremely overwhelming. Yeah, she had always strived for the limelight and attention, but now when she finally got it… she found herself sort of intimidated by it. And yet it was clear to her, as it was to everyone else, that once she was in, there was no going back.

Leaving the tour cast several months later was the end of her relationship with Joey Silverstone. When she read a year or so later he was having an affair with a dancer, she felt absolutely nothing. She just hoped that the dancer was as self-centered as he was, or it would be the end of them as well.

She stayed in California for a while to star in couple of local productions. The most famous ones were _A Chorus Line_, where she played Cassie, and a revival of _The Rocky Horror Show_ in which she stole the act as Magenta. That part involved more acting than singing, but she had so much fun doing it. In her heart she dedicated her performance there to Collins, who was a Rocky fan. She wished he could see her in it. The audience went wild with the show, especially with her performance, and her fan-circle slowly increased.

She constantly got offers to star in this or that new musical, as well as invitations for auditions for roles she only dreamt of before, but she turned them all down. She wasn't ready for New York yet. But then one day, a man came to see her backstage, telling her he was working on a new, original musical, and that he was hoping for casting her as the lead. He saw her in _A Chorus Line_ while he was working on the music for his this show, he said, and he was so moved by her performance, that when he got home, he managed to complete the score in one night, having her voice in mind for some of the new songs he added. She couldn't help but feel extremely flattered. How could she possibly refuse? It seemed like she had very little choice. Broadway seemed to be the natural next step. So once she finished her contract with Rocky, she was ready to go back to New York.

It was difficult at first. She decided to keep as far from the Village as possible. She got herself an agent and found an apartment. It was on the top floor of a fancy apartment building uptown. It even had a doorman at the lobby. Then once she was settled, it was time to get to work.

But it wasn't that easy. The memories were always there, haunting her, distracting. There was always this street corner, that tree in the park, the bench by the sidewalk… The past was everywhere. And to top it all off, when she was finally getting used to all that, when she was finally at some sort of peace with herself, _he_ showed up.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She felt so old, the essence of her memories exhausting.

_How do you leave the past behind when it keeps finding ways to get to your heart?_

Once more, her thoughts wandered to what she has seen in his eyes. There was something else beyond that old, haunted expression. Some sort of urgency she couldn't decipher. Why was he there, back in her life, after all this time? What was it that he had to tell her? And above all those, there was the thing that bugged her the most.

Why did she want to care so much?

She raised her head and stood up, filled with new confidence and determination she thought she lost along the way. She smoothed some invisible wrinkles in her dress and hurried out of her dressing-room.

Run. She'd have to run to get there on time. But it was extremely difficult, almost impossible, as her feet kept entangling with the hem of her long, heavy dress. Holding back a curse, she grabbed as much of the material as she could in one hand and ran on. Her time was running out.

"Adam!" she said breathlessly once she reached the stage door.

Adam raised his head from the magazine he was flipping through, and gave her a surprised look. "Miss Johnson, what are you doing back here? You're supposed to-"

"The guy who was just here-" she started, trying to catch her breath.

Adam frowned, obviously still bothered by the appearance of the stranger. "He's gone. Nothing for you to worry about, Miss Johnson."

Shit. Inside, the orchestra started playing the opening notes of the second act. Double shit. She wouldn't have time to run after him. She'd have to use Plan B. She looked at Adam, who was observing her inquiringly, as if wondering why she was in such hurry. "Adam, will you do something for me?"

"Of course. What is it that you need?"

"Get him back. I don't care what you'll have to do, just…" she paused, forcing herself to calm down. "Get him."

"But I thought you didn't-"

"Look, we don't have time for this," she cut him off, a bit bluntly, looking at him urgently. She didn't have time for apologies or explanations. Luckily he worked for the theater for so many years, he was probably used to all kinds of actresses' whims. "I promise I'll explain later. In the meantime, just do this for me. Look for him inside, he probably has a ticket. Tell him I asked to see him. Take him to my dressing-room once the show is over."

Adam gave her a confused, disapproving look. "Your dressing-room? You know we're not allowed-"

"This is an emergency, Adam, _please_." She looked at him persistently. "I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't."

Adam hesitated, but then slowly nodded. "Alright. Will do. I'll get him. Now go, you'll miss your cue."

A slow smile curled on her lips. Maybe there was still hope. "Thanks, Adam."

**

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A/N: because I know how much you love cliffhangers (laughs evilly)… For those of you who are confused, this final scene ties back with the prologue, so go back and read it if you got lost somewhere along the way. Oh, yeah, and review? **


	23. Forget, Regret

**22- Forget, Regret**

In spite of the fact she hardly had time to rest during the intermission, in spite of her being distracted with frenzied attempts to locate him while onstage, in spite of the fact she was that close to have a breakdown any moment, she gave one hell of a performance during the second act. She got loud ovations after each number, the loudest she had ever witnessed ever since she got into the theater world, and the audience literally rose to its feet during the curtain-call. As she took her final bow with the rest of the cast, her heart fluttered with excitement and satisfaction. She did it. She was going to be a hit.

Then insecurity rushed back in as she hurried back to her dressing-room. She tried to locate Adam above the bustle of actors and dancers that hurried to their dressing-rooms, but he was nowhere to be found. She wondered if he'd do as she told him, no matter how crazy he probably thought she was. God, she hoped he'd find him. She had no idea what she'd do when he would; what she'd say, how she'd act. She honestly wasn't sure how she felt about this. First when he showed up backstage, it felt as if he was some ghost of her past, but the more she thought about it, about _him_, the more she realized how much she missed him. She missed them all. She just wanted to see him again.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She had just stepped out of the shower when a knock came at the door. She snatched the robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door and wrapped it around her as she left the bathroom. "Come in!" she called, pulling her hair free of its shower cap. Her heart was racing. Of course, it could be someone else, but somehow she knew that it wasn't.

The door opened, and Adam peaked inside. When he caught sight of what she was wearing he did the slightest step back, as if embarrassed for walking in on her dressed that way. "Miss Johnson, I found him. Would you rather change before-"

"No, that's fine. Let him in."

He seemed to hesitate, but eventually relented. "Alright. Let me know if you need anything."

"Okay. Thanks Adam." She heard their muffled conversation from where they were standing outside her door, but couldn't make it out. Then the door opened slightly wider, and he stepped in. There was uncertainty in his expression as he slowly walked into the room. And reluctance, she later noticed. "Hi Mark."

His look was hollow, empty. "You always manage to boss around everyone, aren't you?" There was clear sarcasm in that question. It was obvious he was hurt by what happened before. She knew he was now trying to hurt her, probably as much as she hurt him before, yet predicting it made her remain indifferent.

"Most of the times," she replied evenly, taking a seat on the small sofa. "How are you, Mark?"

"Let's cut the crap, shall we, Maureen?" he cut her off abruptly. "Why am I here?"

She was taken aback by his tone, in spite of herself; a bit intimidated by the way he was sort of towering over her, standing like that before her. She did her best not to let him see that. "That was going to be my next question. Why are you here?"

He looked away. "It doesn't matter now."

Now she was all the more curious. She wouldn't let it go. She couldn't. "It doesn't?"

"It might have, if you weren't pulling your diva act backstage earlier. Those guys were ready to kick my ass because of you."

There wasn't much she could say without sounding completely lame. He was right. "I'm sorry."

"Guess what, Maureen, sorry is not good enough!" She looked down. She deserved all of it, she knew. But what did he expect her to do when he just showed up there, out of nowhere, after she managed to leave the past behind and move on? She wasn't used to being caught off-guard. Usually, _she_ was the one catching people off-guard. That was what she did best.

She didn't even notice when he approached her. He was kneeling in front of the couch she was sitting on. "You wanna know why I'm here?" he asked, his tone lower, softer, but obviously still wounded. He didn't wait for an answer. "I once told you that when you get into Broadway I'd be there on the front row." She closed her eyes. The memory burnt like fire. "Well, here I am; keeping my promise."

"Did you like the show?" she found herself ask. She wasn't sure why; it just slipped, sort of. As things were at the moment, she really didn't give a damn what he thought about the show.

"Yeah, I did," he replied softly, for a slight second honest and not sarcastic. "My favorite part was during the intermission though."

"I said I was sorry, Mark!" she blurted out, getting up. She felt tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. Damn him.

He didn't say anything for a while. Then she heard him walk over to her, until he was standing right behind her. "Now tell me. What am I doing here? Personally invited to the private dressing-room of the diva herself? I must have done something to deserve the honor." His voice was cold, dripping with sarcasm. This was not the Mark she used to know. This Mark was bitter and full of anger. She guessed he had his reasons, but so did she.

She turned to look at him. Her eyes met his, two icebergs behind his glasses, cold, distant. It felt as if nothing she'd say would be the right thing. "I wanted to clear things out."

"It's a bit late for that, don't you think? Five years too late."

How dared he use that tone on her? How dared he blame _her_ for being too late? "_You_ came here looking for _me_, Mark, I didn't ask you to do that. And besides, do you think it was easy for me?"

"Eas_ier_. You're the one who left."

"You have to know why I left before you-"

"I know why," he said softly. His voice lost its sarcasm.

She looked up at him, confused. He caught her off-guard again. "You… you do?"

Mark slowly nodded. "Joanne told me part of it. When I figured out the rest and came over to talk to you, you were gone." He laughed bitterly. "You can be so stupid sometimes, you know? So damn harsh and stupid."

It didn't sound as if he was sarcastic again, but it still hurt. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"If you weren't in such hurry to leave, you would have learned a thing or two about what you've seen in the loft that day."

She looked at him through narrow eyes. She didn't need him to remind her of _that_. "I know what I saw."

"No, you don't. This is just the point. But by the time I put all the pieces of the puzzle together, you were gone." He reached over and touched her hand. This slight touch overwhelmed her. It brought back so many memories. "So I'm here, if you wanna know the truth."

A knock came at the door. She pulled her hand away abruptly, startled. "Maureen, we're heading to the party, you comin'?"

"I'll meet you there, you guys, I have to stop at home first!" she called back, grateful that none of them asked to come in.

"Alright! See you later then, don't wait 'till midnight for your grand entry!"

She laughed bitterly. This diva still needed her stage. "I won't." The voices lowered and eventually disappeared down the hall. She looked back at Mark. "We have this party for opening night. I'm supposed to be there." She walked over and took his hand again. He looked surprised, as if he wasn't expecting this. "Look, we need to talk about this. Give me a minute to change, then we can go to my place."

His features softened. She noticed he didn't try to resist or to pull his hand away. "It may take a while. You have a party to get to."

"I'll get there a little later." She looked at him seriously. "I really think we should talk about this," she said, although she wasn't sure how much she wanted to hear what he had to say. 'The truth', as he called it. Mark still looked hesitant. She sighed. "Look, isn't it what you came for? You can't show up here after all this time and say all those things if you don't really mean them, Mark. I have enough on my mind as it is and the last thing I need right now is you, confusing me." She wasn't aware of what she had just let slip, and it was too late to take it back.

If Mark got the implication of this, he didn't show any signs of it. "Fine. Get dressed; we'll go to your place."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Soon they made their way down the hall and to the stage door. She never got used to that part of the day, although she was slowly getting the hang of it, thanks to those couple of weeks of previews that finished tonight, with their opening. By the sounds that came from the other side, she knew it might take a while before they'd be able to leave. Her fan circle grew bigger over the years, and though her name wasn't yet familiar in the world of Broadway, it was clear to everyone that it was soon to change.

She turned to look at Mark, who was following her lead. "It's gonna be a bit noisy," she warned him.

He shrugged. "You earned it. Enjoy it. I won't stand in your way."

Adam waited by the door, still glancing suspiciously at Mark. He smiled at her though. "Don't you have a party to get to?"

"I'm on my way," she smiled back.

"Don't forget to send kisses to your little one."

From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Mark went pale. Her smile widened. "I _never_ forget, you know that."

"Why don't you bring her over the next weekend? I'll watch her while you're onstage."

She pouted, shaking her head. "I'm _not_ bringing her here, someone might notice how beautiful she is and kidnap her to blackmail me," she said jokingly. Adam laughed. "Night, Adam, see you tomorrow."

"Great reviews, I hear," he said, winking at her.

Only thinking about the midnight reviews gave her goosebumps. "Haven't seen 'em yet. Goodnight!"

There were more people out there than she expected. Their roaring seemed to grow impossibly louder the moment she stepped out. They all called her name, their voices deafening, the flashes from their cameras blinding her. She glanced at Mark. He stood aside, as if to let her take hold on the spotlights, and enjoy her well-deserved praises and applause. A small, subconscious smile curled on his lips, making the traces of his former anger almost unnoticeable. He looked so out of place there, and for a moment she regretted dragging him into this. He didn't belong to this world of spotlights and fame; he never did. She knew that now everyone would begin to wonder who he was. Those things took hours, if not less, to come up, truth or not. She could imagine the wild speculations already, in the gossip sections of next day's papers. The new name on the stages of Broadway was seen leaving the theater with a blonde, scrawny nobody.

"You can wait for me in the car if you want," she told him. "Adam can show you where it is."

"No, that's okay. I don't mind. Do what you gotta do."

"You sure?"

He gave her a reassuring smile, which she returned before turning back to her fans. She could feel his eyes on her back as she signed her name on dozens of programs and photos, and took pictures with some of the people. Someone handed her flowers, and Adam quickly took it for her, saying he'd make sure Miss Johnson would personally get them. Their gazes locked with silent communication. It was time to go. A few more seconds passed before Adam appeared next to her, loyal and protective, making sure she'd get safely into the car that was waiting for her. Mark was already at the back seat when she walked in. Adam closed the door for her and nodded to the driver. Then they took off and disappeared into the chilly New York night, the flickering lights of the flashes and billboards fading behind them, leading their way.

**

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A/N: The last scene was a little Notting Hill like, in case you missed this somehow… Another cliffie! I figured it was the only way to get you to review, you guys, so please don't fail me! **


	24. Trusting Desires

**A/N: I cannot believe you all just missed it! There was this small… something… in the ending of the last chapter I was sure you'd all pick up on and _no one did_! Gah! The following scene in this chapter was supposed to be a twist on that, but since none of you got it… oh well. Maybe it wasn't as noticeable as I intended it to be. If you wanna know what this 'something' was, just go back to the previous chapter and find it towards the end, in Adam and Maureen's conversation.**

**

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23- Trusting Desires **

She watched the vanishing view of 42nd street as the car drove away, until nothing was left from the theaters and billboards but a shimmering sparkle in the distance. She sent side-glances at Mark when he wasn't looking, which wasn't such a difficult task as his gaze was turned away from her. He seemed similarly occupied, watching the street from the window closer to him. He had that contemplated look, the one he always got when something was bothering him. He said nothing from the moment they left the theater. Nonetheless, she knew what he was thinking about, that he was probably waiting for the right opportunity to ask her about it.

Shortly afterwards, the car slid to a halt in front of her building. The driver turned to look at her. "There you go, Miss. Are you sure you don't need me to get to the party?"

"No, that's okay, George. I'll manage. See you tomorrow afternoon."

"Good night. Enjoy your evening."

"I will," she smiled. "Good night, George. Thanks."

As if Mark interpreted it as a sign, he murmured a quick goodbye to George and went out of the car. He waited for her to follow, and they entered the building silently. She smiled at the doorman, who returned her smile and asked how her show went. As discreet she always knew him to be, if he was bothered by the strange man at her side, he said nothing about it. The arrival of the elevator put an abrupt end to their conversation, and she walked into it, Mark following suit. Still saying nothing, she noted. She figured he'd have to break the silence soon enough, to ask her about this thing on his mind. His conscience wouldn't let him go into her apartment if he had the slightest suspicion that-

"Maureen, wait." She blinked, still kind of surprised although she expected it. They were standing at her doorway. "Maybe I should just go."

"We said we'd come over here to talk," she half said, half asked.

"Yeah, but I… it suddenly feels wrong, to barge into your life that way after all this time." He stuck his hands in his coat pockets and kept his gaze on the floor. "You've obviously got your own life now, I don't want to be in your way."

Although he didn't explicitly say it, she knew she was right. What Adam told her earlier bothered him. She laughed softly. "Mark, there's no one else."

He looked up, confused. "But this guy said-"

"Okay, there is someone, but not who you think," she said, reaching for her keys. She unlocked the door. "Come in, I want you to meet her."

The apartment was dark and quiet when they stepped in. A small figure laid curled on the couch, raising its head at the sound of the opening door. She smiled. There she was, her baby girl.

"Hey, sweetie, mommy's home!" she cooed.

Her one-year-old Pug looked back at her sleepily, yawning, as if scorning her for the unwelcome interruption. She sat up and stretched lazily, then jumped off the couch and hurried over to where they were standing, suddenly wide-awake. She knelt down, momentarily forgetting Mark's existence, and let the dog lick her cheeks. "Hey, gorgeous. You missed me? I know you did. I missed you too," she spoke softly, tickling the dog under her chin and along her stomach. She looked up at Mark, who stared at her in disbelief. He obviously wasn't expecting this. She smiled. It was her turn to catch him off-guard.

"It's… a dog."

As if she could understand him, the dog suddenly lost interest in her. She walked over to Mark and started sniffing his shoes, her tail wriggling madly. He knelt and patted her like she did a moment ago. The dog licked his hand enthusiastically, making him laugh.

She rolled her eyes. "So typical. She loses it when there are boys around."

"Reminds me of someone I used to know," said Mark, hardly looking at her. He looked completely taken by the dog's charms. Well, who wouldn't be?

"Well, let me have her so you'll be properly introduced," she said, trying to get a hold on her dog. Eventually, with much difficulty, she succeeded. "Mark, this is Holly," she smiled and raised one of Holly's paws. "Holly, this is Mark, he's an old friend of mommy. Say hi!"

Holly looked at her, her head tilted to one side, her deep-brown eyes huge and understanding. Then she struggled out of her hold and hurried back to Mark. She huffed in discontent.

Mark looked up, obviously amused by her reaction. He was smiling now. "Why Holly?"

"After Holly Golightly, from _Breakfast at Tiffany's_." She knew it was his favorite movie. It was one of hers, too.

"How long you have her?"

"I got her for my birthday several months ago from some friends at the theater. She was tiny then, now she's a bag of fat."

"She's cute."

"Cute? She's the most beautiful creature on the planet!" Mark laughed softly. She stood back up, turning on the main lights. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine."

"Well, come in. I'll just get this little one a snack and then we can talk."

She came back after a few minutes to find Mark sitting on her couch. His coat was against the back of the couch. Holly was curled beside him, fast asleep and snoring loudly, and Mark was running his hand along her back. She smiled at the picture they made. She always found Holly's snores so comforting.

She sat on the other side of the couch, kicking off her shoes. She raised her legs, stuffing her feet beneath her. "So…" she started, glancing at Mark. He stopped caressing Holly's back at once.

"So," he echoed, a bit awkwardly. Then he looked at her seriously, honestly. "You look really good."

For a moment, it felt as if the old Mark was back. "Thanks. You too."

"You're just saying," he protested meekly.

"No, I'm not," she insisted. He did look good, now that he let go sarcasm and angst. He looked grown-up, still somewhat dorky, yeah, but at the same time, he looked kind of… handsome…?

She stopped herself. She couldn't go there. She wouldn't think about it. "So how are you?" she asked in her most neutral tone.

"Good. I'm working."

"Filming?"

"Yeah. Independent films and documentaries mostly. So far so good."

"Still in the Village?"

"No, actually, we just moved out last year."

Her heart stopped a beat. 'We'… it could have been a girlfriend, or a wife, but somehow she got the feeling it wasn't that, not at all. She thought she'd ask anyway. "We?"

"Roger and I. Collins is away a lot."

She felt her lips curl into a small smile when he mentioned their names. She assumed they were all gone. She thought she'd never see them again when she left, but now she realized how much she missed them. "How are they?"

"They have their days, but as long as they take their AZT they're okay."

"Mimi?" she asked hopefully.

Mark shook his head sorrowfully. "Mimi was down with pneumonia two years ago. She didn't have a chance."

She should have known that. Mimi was never that strong. "How Roger took it?"

"Pretty well, thank God. He… they got married before it happened. Mimi didn't want to do it this way, but Roger… Well, you know how he is when he wants something. He said it would be the only way he'd be able to handle this. And now that she's gone, I think he was right." He paused, as if to get himself together, and then looked up again, his expression changing ever so slightly. "How are you, Maureen?"

She was a bit taken-aback by his question. In the past three years or so, no one actually cared how she was. No one asked her that question for a long time. It was weird even to consider her reply. "How am I, well… I'm… okay, I guess," she said, looking up at him. "I'm really glad to see you, Mark. In spite of what happened earlier."

He looked as if he didn't want to be reminded of that. "Yeah, I'm sorry I snapped at you at your dressing-room."

"No, that's okay. I understand. You just… surprised me by showing up there, that's all."

He hesitated, then asked, "So, do you wanna hear what I have to say?"

Did she? She wasn't sure. "I guess… I'll have to, one way or another."

"First tell me something," he said, taking something out of the inner pocket of his coat. She held back a gasp when she realized what it was. "You came to give me that before you left." She could read the question in his eyes before he even uttered it. "Why?"

"I can't believe you kept it," she whispered, hesitantly taking the ring from his hand.

"I was telling myself the same thing when you gave it to me," Mark replied softly, looking straight at her. His tone overwhelmed her. "I didn't expect you to have it after you dumped me. I didn't see you wear it, so I figured-"

"I didn't wear it. I mean I did, I…" she laughed nervously. It sounded so silly. "I put it on a necklace."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure." How could she tell him it was simply a matter of instincts back then? "You said you talked to Joanne," she half said, half asked, wishing to switch this conversation as far away from the ring issue as possible. "Are you still in touch with her?"

"Every now and again. She opened her own firm two years ago, so she's swamped with work ever since."

"Good for her." She meant it. No one deserved to be successful as Joanne deserved it. She was always so devoted to her work. She earned it.

"Yeah, we became pretty close after you…" his voice trailed off. "It was her who saw a picture of you in a magazine 6 months ago. This is how we knew you were back in town, through that article they made on your show."

"If you knew I was here 6 months ago, why didn't you come to see me back then?"

"I don't know. I guess I figured you'd be busy with rehearsals, and the article never specified where the rehearsals took place." And then, as if realizing he was there for a different purpose, he shook his head. "This is not what I came to talk to you about," he said quietly. He took the ring from her and placed it carefully on the coffee table. "I came to tell you about Nadia."

Just hearing the name again gave her chills, which was kind of silly. It shouldn't have bothered her back then; Mark was free to do what he wanted, to be with whom he wanted. And it definitely shouldn't bother her now. It was ancient history. There was really no need to open old wounds again. "Mark, just forget it."

"No. I wouldn't have been here tonight if I didn't think it was worth telling you the truth."

"Why? It's really not such a big deal. So you had a girlfriend. I was just a bit surprised because I didn't know you were seeing anyone, and I'm fine with it. Why wouldn't I-" She stopped abruptly as he reached out his hand to touch hers. She felt her heart flutter in spite of herself at the warmth of his hand. She looked at him questionably.

"Nadia is not my girlfriend."

Now _that_ she wasn't expecting.

He seemed to have noticed, for he laughed softly and continued. "If you weren't in such a hurry to leave, you would have known it years ago. She's my cousin. She was on vacation from school and came to New York. She needed a place to stay so we took her in."

She just stared at him, feeling the room closing in on her. She felt so stupid. His _cousin_? "How come I didn't meet her at your nephew's Bris then?" she asked weakly.

"Because she was studying in Florida and couldn't make it."

There was death silence in the room, except for Holly's constant snoring. She really didn't know what to say. Inside, she was scorning herself. She felt so damn stupid. How could she run into wrong conclusions so fast? This wasn't like her, she was more reasonable than that! What the hell was she thinking? If she waited just one moment longer, maybe it would all have ended up differently, maybe they were-

Mark shifted slightly in his seat, his sudden movement shaking her out of her reverie. "I know it's been years, but I just wanted to clear this out, just in case."

"Just in case?" she repeated, not really sure what he meant by that, still a bit shaken by her own stupidity.

Before she knew it, he leaned over above the sleeping dog to lay a kiss on her lips.

"I'll understand if I'm too late," he said quietly, slowly pulling away.

Her mind wanted to scream at him that he _was_ too late, 5 damn years too late, that she didn't care who he was with back then and she surely didn't care now, that he'd better just go and forget all about it.

But her heart was saying otherwise.

She closed the small distance between them and pulled at the front of his dress-shirt, bringing him closer for another kiss. He seemed surprised, but only for a moment before he leaned forward, deepening the kiss. He placed his palm against her cheek, holding her in place. Her head was reeling, her heart beating like crazy. She had no idea how it happened. One moment they were talking like old friends and the next moment… were they back together? It felt as if everything surfaced back up, as if they never really parted, as if they continued just from where they last left off. Were those feelings really still there after all this time? Things were moving _way_ to fast than she intended them to. No. That was wrong.

"I need this to go slow," she said breathlessly, pulling away.

Mark grinned, looking as flushed as she felt. "Boy, you kind of sound like me," he said, removing her hair from her face.

She smiled, relieved to detect that familiar gleam in his eyes again. Then something occurred to her and she nearly jumped off her seat. "Crap. The party. I have to…" her voice trailed off and she looked at him sorrowfully. "I must get there."

"That's okay, I understand," he said, getting up. They just stood there, looking at one another uncertainly. Now what? "So, I guess I'll be going then."

She didn't want him to go. Not so fast, not after she got him back. _If_ she got him back. Ugh, whatever. "Why don't you come with me?"

"To the party?"

"Unless you've got something against music and expensive champagne."

He hesitated, but then shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not really dressed up for a party like that."

Even though he was dressed pretty nicely, she knew most men would probably show up looking more stylish and sophisticated. Not that she cared, but she didn't want him to feel out of place there. She smiled. The person who could solve her problem was just a phone call away. "Oh, we'll dress you up all right. My agent can take care of that."

Mark smiled. "Then sure, I'll go to that party with you."

"Great," she replied, leaning closer to kiss him. It felt so weird, yet so amazing at the same time. She pulled away quickly, reluctantly. They were running out of time. "I gotta change. Watch some TV or something. Answer the door when your clothes get here, okay?"

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Sure thing."

It felt as if she was dancing her way down the hall and into her room.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Once in her bedroom, she reached for the phone and clicked the speed dial for her agent's cell. She knew Leila was probably either furious or worried, and definitely wondering where the hell was she.

She answered on the second ring. "Why are you still at home?"

"Something came up," she answered vaguely. "Leila, I need you to do something for me."

"Speak out, Darling, I'm listening."

"I need you to find André and tell him to get me a tux as soon as he can."

"_What_? Are you out of your mind, Maureen? Get your ass over here, will you? There are tons of reporters waiting for you to show up, what's this nonsense about a tux? Just get here."

"I'll get there, I promise, just get me this tux. I need it for a friend of mine."

"Oh," said Leila, in a tone that indicated that now she was interested. "And who is this 'friend' of yours, if I may ask?"

She laughed. "It's an old friend, he came to see me tonight. Tell André he's 5'8, and not to go wild with his choices this time. Something nice and classic will be great, none of those pinks and greens he likes so much."

"Ah, but he will be _so_ disappointed," Leila said jokingly. "Alright, Darling, I'll take care of it. Be sure to get here before the party is over, huh? You were marvelous tonight, and I'm not the only one who thinks that."

She couldn't help but smile in satisfaction. "Thanks, Leila. I'll see you in a bit."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She loved the dress André chose for her. She adored it. It was probably the most beautiful thing she ever wore in her life. And it looked so damn expensive, she just _knew_ she'd ruin it somehow tonight. It was a lavender-colored satin gown, so bright it got a pearly shade when it came in contact with the light. Its design was simple but stunning, showing off her figure without being too slutty or inappropriate, ending with a small trail behind her. Yeah, André was a fashion genius. She was so lucky to have him.

She was fixing her hair when the doorbell rang. Thank God, André worked fast. They were running late as it was. Holly's barking prevented her from hearing what was going on out there, but then after a while, Mark called, "Maureen, where can I-"

"The guest room is the second door down the hall!" she called back, reaching for her earrings. The finishing touch.

She lingered in front of the full-length mirror that was on her closet, looking critically at her reflection. Her hair was down, curling softly down her back. Its dark color was a nice contrast to the shiny glow of the gown. Yeah, she told herself, smiling in satisfaction. She liked what she saw. After making sure she had her lipstick in her purse, she took a deep breath and left the room.

Mark wasn't in the living-room when she entered, but Holly was. She was now curled on the armchair, raising her head as if to acknowledge her. She smiled and walked over there, patting her dog's head. "Hey sweetie. Mommy has to go out again. You just stay here and have a good nap and I'll see you in a-"

A rustle made her turn. Mark entered the living-room, straightening the jacket of his tux. Then he spotted her by the armchair, and his eyes grew big. His jaw nearly dropped to the floor. She smiled and stood up. "I'll take it from your expression that my stylist made a good choice on this one?" she asked, walking towards him.

"Definitely a good choice," he said weakly, staring at her as if for the first time. If anyone else would have looked at her the same way Mark did just now, she would have kicked his ass; knowing Mark, he probably didn't even realize he was staring.

"Are you ready to go?" She could feel him holding back a gasp when she ran a hand over his jacket to straighten it a bit. He nodded silently, as if not trusting himself with words. Ooh, boy. That was going to be one tough evening.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She found her way to the balcony, and sighed with relief as she leaned against the railing. The air in the small ballroom was getting so packed with alcohol fumes and expensive perfumes; she just had to get away. It was chilly out, but she hardly felt it. She took a sip of champagne, and laid the tall glass on the stone railing. New York was stretching beneath her in all its glory, stunningly beautiful even at this time of night.

This was how fame felt like, then; empty and shallow, with endless parties and music and pointless chatter. She would never have figured. She always believed it to be more glamorous than that. She was almost shocked to realize that this was all it was. Maybe it was better when unreachable. Everything got spoiled once you had it. Maybe it was the same with fame.

Of course she loved the attention. All those photographers that took her picture the moment she stepped in, the flashes that were blinding her, the applause, all meant for her, the reporters who shot their questions at her. She loved it. But it was as if she realized it wasn't everything. She wanted more. And she could have had more; she had her opportunity right there. She just wasn't sure how wise it would be. It was obvious that the old spark was still there, but it's been 5 years. She had changed, a lot, and it was only reasonable to assume that Mark did too. And she still had those feelings for him; they definitely surfaced back up again after learning the truth about Nadia, after that kiss. But what if they were rushing things, what if-

"There you are."

She turned, startled. Mark walked out to the balcony, looking a bit concerned. She shook her head, sending her doubts away. "I needed some fresh air."

"They're gonna read the midnight reviews soon."

"I'd better stay out here then," she laughed nervously. At least she'd be on the right place in case she'd have to jump off the building or something.

"I'm sure you did great," he replied, walking over to her. Then he gave her a closer look. "It doesn't look like you're having the time of your life," he observed.

She laughed softly. "I've got too much on my mind for that."

He leaned against the railing next to her. "Anything I can do?"

"I'm afraid not."

He hesitated, then said, "Maybe I shouldn't have come."

"What are you talking about?"

"About tonight. It's bothering you, I shouldn't have-"

One more step, and she was standing in front of him. She laid a finger on his lips; his voice trailed off at once. "I thought we had this guilt-thing covered," she said in a low voice.

"It still seems to bother you, so I thought-"

"That's not what's bothering me. Well, not exactly." She looked up at him. "What are we doing, Mark? I mean, when I left, I thought I'd never see you guys again, and then tonight you're there in my show, in my apartment, in my life, it's just… do we really want to go back to how things were 5 years ago?"

"It doesn't have to be like that. Things happened. It can be different. Better."

"Yeah, but what if it won't be better?"

He laughed kind of desperately. "Here you go again," he said. "Why do you always have to think so far ahead?"

She shrugged. She just did. This was how she was. "How is it possible that it's not bothering you? Not even a bit?"

"Because I don't care about tomorrow, or next week, or next year," he stated simply. "No day but today, remember?"

She almost forgot. And now that she remembered, it brought back another thing, a promise, she never thought she'd be able to keep.

"_I want you to do something for me, Maureen."_

"_What?"_

"_I want you to promise… that you'll watch Mark."_

"_Mark? I don't understand."_

"_Just say that you will, honey. That's all I need to know."_

"_Why would you want me to-"_

"_You know what I mean, honey."_

Mark took both her hands in his, bringing reality back. She blinked, slightly disoriented. The vision was so vivid, so alive, as if it happened moments ago. Mark looked at her, into her, in a way she remembered from way before. "Right now, this is what you want?" he asked, his voice soft.

She remembered that question, and the answer she made to it long ago. She made up her mind. She'd follow her instincts. I'm gonna keep the promise, Angel, she thought. I won't let you down. A slow smile curled on her lips. "Right now, this is what I want." Not really thinking about what would have happened if someone would decide to choose this very moment to get some fresh air, she wrapped her arms around Mark's neck, slowly bringing his head down closer to hers. She flashed a teasing smile at him. "Is that a good answer?"

"It's the best answer," he replied softly, leaning forward to capture her lips with his. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close, as their kisses became more and more fervent.

"Let's get out of here," she murmured, pulling away reluctantly. She couldn't risk them being caught, not so fast. She wanted to keep it for herself before any of it got to the press.

Mark smiled. "What happened to taking it slow?"

She ran a hand across his chest and felt him shiver under her touch. "I think you made me change my mind."

He was blushing now, bright pink. "We can't just leave."

"Leave the acting to me, and just work with me when necessary." She was about to enter the ballroom again, when she heard him calling her name.

"Maureen?"

She turned, giving him a questioning look. "Yeah?"

He didn't say it, but she could read it clearly in his eyes. She smiled. She knew. She knew it now; she realized she knew it all along.

"I know. Me too."

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Dedicated to my very own Pug, Joy :) **


	25. Now I Know

**A/N: Again, my apologies for this ridiculously delayed update. Writers' block is never fun, and it surely ain't fun when trying to write the last chapter. Yeah, this _is_ the last chapter. You know me, I don't like stories that are over-stretched, and I do believe this story got to the place I wanted it to get after making a full circle. There's gonna be an epilogue, so don't go anywhere, give me a few more days to complete it. This story has made a long way, longer than I intended it to take, I think. Hell, 24 chapters is a mini-epic, as far as I'm concerned. I wanna thank those who read my story, and give special thanks to those of you who took time to review it as well. Mucho love to all of you, guys, stay tuned for the epilogue!**

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24- Now I Know**

Although she was wide-awake, she didn't open her eyes just yet. She just laid there and enjoyed the warmth that surrounded her; the blankets that were wrapped around her, the sun-rays that tickled her face. Slowly, and a bit reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The room was fully lit by the morning sun. As she snuggled lazily into the covered, it dawned on her that she was alone in her bed. A tux laid folded against an armchair in the corner of the room, but its owner was nowhere to be found. And yet, she didn't feel alone, but quite the contrary. A small, happy smile crawled onto her lips. She hadn't felt such serenity in a very long time.

Then out of her blissful daze another thing occurred to her; Holly wasn't around, which was odd. Normally she would have come to wake her up much earlier, that is, if from some reason she hadn't slept in her bed. By the looks of it, it was kind of late in the morning. Mark's watch was on her bedside, so she reached out for it. It read 9:38. Whoa. She definitely overslept. Normally she was up by 7:30 at most, taking Holly out for a long walk around the block before the day started, and then the usual routine of rehearsals, voice teacher and the gym every other day.

Now she sat up, somewhat worried about Holly. The dog was really well-trained and all, but it was over two hours after the usual time they went out for their walk. What if she couldn't hold it for so long? A bit angry with herself, she hoped it wasn't too late to take Holly out.

She took a quick shower and slipped into sweatpants and her old college sweatshirt. By the time she pulled on a pair of sox, the apartment was filled with a rich, tempting scent of vanilla. She smiled to herself as she walked down the hall, wondering what he was up to. It was kind of strange, actually, to even think about waking up to such a scent of cooking in her apartment. For so long, it was just her and her dog. It was really weird to have someone else around, let alone Mark. _That_ was almost surreal.

He was with his back to her, completely occupied in whatever the hell he was doing there by her stove. The table in the dining area between the kitchen and the living-room was set for two, and there were tall glasses filled with what looked like freshly-made orange juice. Holly was sitting on the floor right next to Mark, her head tilted up, that irresistible, pleading expression written all over her face. He was whistling. She realized she had never heard him whistle before. It made her smile.

She coughed softly to draw his attention without startling him. He turned, and the smile she suspected was there widened as he noticed her.

"Good morning," he said, taking something off the stove.

"What are you doing in my kitchen?" she asked, amused. She didn't even know he knew how to cook.

"I'm making breakfast for the new face of Broadway," he replied, nodding towards a paper that laid folded on one of the plates on the table. Taking the hint, she walked over there and took the paper, her eyes running along the title, her heart racing. It was a short article about their opening the other night, an elaborated review, some photos from the after-party, but the title said it all.

She made it.

Mark took the paper from her shaking hand. "Congratulations," he said, smiling, wrapping his arms around her. Unable to say anything, still needing some time to digest it, she gave him a hug.

An angry bark put an abrupt end to their silent moment. She looked down to meet Holly's resentful frown. The dog barked again, and this time it had a wailing-like sound to it. Maybe she did have to go. "Damn. I gotta take her downstairs," she told Mark, almost apologetically.

"No, you don't. We had a long walk earlier. How do you think we got the newspaper?" He smiled and took her hand. "She's okay. She's just hungry." She wondered how he became such an expert in dogs all of a sudden. And as if he could tell it crossed her mind, he laughed. "Holly and me are old friends now, aren't we, Holly?"

Holly barked again, her expression even more pleading.

"We'd better feed this one," said Mark, about to turn back to the stove again.

"Mark, wait," she said, pulling at his arm to hold him in place. He looked at her questionably, and she smiled and kissed him quickly.

"What was that for?" he asked, turning slightly pink.

She shrugged. "Just… because."

She knew he wouldn't even try to argue with _that_.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

It turned out that the vanilla scent that in the meantime spread all over the apartment was of the French-toast Mark made. He was sitting across from her, and she gave him an incredulous look as she reached for another piece.

"What?" he asked, that sweet smile she liked brightening his face.

"In the last 24 hours you managed to surprise me more than you even did in the long time we knew before."

"See? And you worried it wouldn't be better this time," he said victoriously. She smirked and took a small bite of her toast. "So… any chance I'll get to spend some time with you today?" he asked kind of hesitantly.

She considered it. She did have a meeting with her voice teacher that afternoon. She had nothing scheduled for that morning; Leila figured she'd be worn out from the previous day's opening. She nodded. "Yeah. I think that's manageable."

"Great," he smiled, sipping his orange juice. Then he seemed to remember something, for he put his glass down. "Someone called you earlier. I didn't want to wake you, you looked so tired."

"Who was it?" It could have been Leila, maybe her voice teacher was calling to cancel that afternoon's class, or one of her colleagues from the theater. She surely wasn't ready for what he said next.

"Your brother, Anthony."

She looked at him incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not a bit."

"What did he want?"

"To congratulate you about the show, I guess. He probably saw that review in the newspaper."

"I didn't even know he knew my number," she said. The last time they had any kind of contact was when he called her to invite her to his wedding. She had no idea how he managed to locate her then as well; she was on the road with the _Cabaret_ tour, more or less at the same time she had to take over the lead when Melody took ill. She couldn't attend the wedding. She didn't think he was offended; she was sure he didn't really mean to invite her, only their parents probably thought it would look bad for the family image not to have her there, but she could care less. She wished him happiness, and they hung up with an unbinding promise to stay in touch. That had never happened.

"Well, he does," Mark replied. "He left his number, in case you wanted to call him back. I wrote it on the pad by the phone."

"Thanks," she said, sipping her juice distracted.

There was a short pause, after which Mark asked, kind of hesitantly, "You _are_ going to call him back, aren't you?"

"I might," she said vaguely, with no real intention to do so.

"Look, Maureen, it's none of my business, but I think you should call him back."

"It _is_ none of your business, Mark," she said, not nastily, just stating the plain fact. This was between her and her family. He had nothing to do with it. He never even met them. "Look, I really don't want my day to be ruined over that. Can we just leave this argument for later?"

He looked as if he didn't want to let it go, so she gave him a pleading look and he relented. "What do you wanna do today?"

She smiled. That was more like it. "Well…" she said and got up. She walked over to where he was sitting, and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I've got some ideas."

"Why don't you share it with the rest of the class, Miss Johnson?" he asked in a low voice, wrapping his arms around her middle, preventing her from falling off.

"I wouldn't mind going back to bed, for once," she said playfully, her lips grazing his left ear. She felt him shudder. "That is, if you don't have to be anywhere…" she looked up at him. He looked pretty distracted, probably because her fingers were caressing the hair at the back of his neck.

"Even if I did, I could do it later," he said, leaning over to kiss her. "I just… gotta make a phone call first…" he murmured, slowly pulling away.

"Go ahead. You know where the phone is. I'll clean up here," she said, getting up, and pulling his arm to help him get up as well. She had a pretty clear idea whom he was going to call, so as he walked over to the phone, followed by Holly, she called after him, "Hit the Speaker when you call 'em, will you?"

Mark turned to give her a look. "What happened to respecting other people's privacy?"

She rolled her eyes. "Honey, I'm in show-business now. There's no such thing as privacy."

He considered it for a moment, but knowing he didn't have a chance, he nodded. "Fair enough."

As she laid the plates in the sink, she heard the dial tone as Mark waited for them to pick up on the other hand. She smiled. Were they still screening? It was funny to think that after all these years-

"Hello?"

She felt silly for the tears that stung in the corners of her eyes when Collins' voice echoed through the walls of her apartment. She grabbed a towel to wipe them off, and leaned against the counter, listening.

"Hey Collins, it's me," Mark said.

"_Mark_! Finally! Where the hell are you, man? One more hour and Roger would have called 911!"

Mark chuckled. "I'm okay. Sorry, I guess I should have called earlier, but I was kind of-"

"Busy, huh?" Collins completed the unfinished statement in his most teasing tone. "I'll take it that you found her. I'll take it from your voice that you got laid!"

She repressed a smirk. The back of Mark's neck turned red.

"Collins, shut up."

"You're not denying it, which makes me believe I'm right." She could almost picture Collins' smug expression. She missed it so much. "Well, where is Momo? Let me talk to her."

Mark turned to look at her. She shook her head quickly, almost by instinct. She couldn't do this. Not now. She wasn't ready to confront the past so fast. Okay, maybe it was kind of hypocritical, considering she had just spent the night with Mark, but she just couldn't do this.

"Can't, she's in the shower," Mark improvised.

"And you're wasting your time talking to me. Hang up that phone and join her."

"Collins!"

"You'll end up thanking me and you know it, Cohen."

"Whatever. Look, I gotta go."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you. Go, loser, tell her we love her!"

I love you too, she thought silently, slowly washing the few dishes from their breakfast. She didn't even hear him hanging up. She almost dropped the glass she was washing when she felt his arms being wrapped around her.

"You okay?" he whispered in her ear.

Turning off the tap, she turned to look at him. "Yeah, I'm okay." She wasn't sure she could explain what was it she was feeling. She wasn't sure she knew.

"Well, look what I found on the coffee table," Mark said, taking her hand. "It's yours, if you still want it."

She looked at the ring he put in the palm of her hand, then up at him. His expression was hopeful, almost pleading. Did he really think she'd refuse? "Of course I still want it." Then she frowned. "If it still fits."

"I think it is," he smiled, obviously satisfied with her answer. He slid it on one of her fingers. It did fit. He gave her a look. "See?"

There wasn't much she thought of saying, but stating the obvious. "I love you."

He looked as if he wasn't expecting this. Then he snapped out of it. "I love you too."

She didn't reply; she simply took his hand and smiled mysteriously as she led him down the hall and back to her bedroom.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"I must admit, this is not what I had in mind when you said you wanted to go back to bed," Mark said twenty minutes or so later.

"I know. But isn't it fun though?" she asked smiling. How could he know that what she had in mind was simply cuddling under the warm covers? It did feel nice. He was lying behind her, his arm draped over her middle, his hand holding hers. Holly was snoring, fast asleep somewhere on the bed as well.

"Hmmm…" he said, nuzzling her neck. "So… how is it you didn't want to talk to Collins?"

"I just… thought the first time I'd see them again should be face-to-face. I'm not really good with reunions over the phone. It doesn't seem right."

"They really missed you, you know."

"I know. I missed them too." He gave her hand a little squeeze, on which she reacted by pressing her body closer to his. "So how's your family? Did you tell your mom I'm gonna be the next Streisand on Broadway?"

Mark laughed. "No, I thought I'd better locate you before I say anything to my mom. I probably won't have to say anything now, as she probably read that article."

"Too bad, I could almost picture that phone call. 'Mark, Bubele, how could you not tell us that your pretty girlfriend finally got her chance on Broadway'?" she said in what she believed was a pretty good imitation of Mrs. Cohen's.

Mark laughed. "You're very modest," he said jokingly, pecking her cheek.

"Baby, I'm an actress. I'm not supposed to be modest."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot."

"So everything's okay at Scarsdale? Your sisters? Nanette Himmelfarb?" she said that last name teasingly, and squeaked in surprise when Mark tickled her side in clear revenge, almost sending her jumping off the bed. "_Hey_!"

He didn't even bother to apologize. "My _sisters_ are fine. Cindy had another baby 3 years ago. Sophie's still studying, which doesn't please our mom very much. As far as she's concerned, both Sophie and me should have been happily married and settled by now, but I stopped listening to this shit years ago, and Sophie sort of doing the same. She likes the academy. She's the one with the brains in our family."

"What is she studying?"

"Translation. She wants to move to New York City after graduation, so I'm really looking forward to that."

"That's great," she said, but now she was kind of distracted. "Mark, are you sure about this?"

"About what?" he asked, as if he didn't really know what she was talking about all of a sudden.

"This. Us. The article in the paper this morning was just the beginning of it. This is what it's gonna be from now on, and it's gonna get worse. Reporters, gossip columns…" She turned, so she was now lying on her back, facing him. He didn't seem to follow. "I'm just saying… that if you have doubts about this… we'd better cut it off now. Before it's too late."

"I wouldn't have been here if I didn't know it, or if I wouldn't have realized it by now. I would never lead you on that way, you know that."

"Yeah, I do, I just wanted to make sure you-"

She never finished her sentence. He was hovering over her, his lips close to hers. "Shh… no talking…" he murmured. Their lips touched. For once, she thought she'd better just do as she was told.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

She saw the flowers when she walked into her room during the intermission; a dozen or so red roses, wrapped in cellophane, rested on her makeup table. She spotted the small envelope that was attached to it and opened it, taking out a small note. _I'm coming to pick you up for dinner. Meet you at the stage-door after the show. Love, M._ She smiled. She'd better go and tell Adam she was expecting him, or he wouldn't let him step in this time as well.

She changed and fixed her makeup, then slipped into her shoes and went out to the hall to find Adam.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Adam sent Mark to wait for her in the car. He sort of figured it all out by now, so she thought it was only fair to fill in the missing gaps for him. From the little he managed to realize by himself, he figured it would best for Mark to wait away from the flashes of the cameras, so whatever was going on between them, they could still have some privacy. It was a small gesture, but she appreciated it greatly.

There was a commotion at the stage-door, but not as it was the night before. She got into the car fairly quick, and George took off the moment she was safely in. She kissed Mark quickly, kind of embarrassed to do this in the presence of her driver. It was still sort of new in itself.

"How was tonight?" Mark asked, giving her hand a squeeze that was out of George's sight.

"Pretty good, I think. We had great audience. The flowers are gorgeous, Mark, thanks," she said more quietly, in a small smile that meant just for him.

"You're welcome."

"Where are we going? I hope what I'm wearing is okay," she said hesitantly, looking down at her worn-out leather jacket. "You didn't say anything about dinner before and I wasn't-"

"What you're wearing is perfect, don't worry about it," he assured her.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked as the car made its way in the streets of New York. This was definitely not the way to her apartment, or uptown. She looked at Mark questionably.

"You'll see."

She began to have a pretty clear idea as for what was going on when George stopped the car and turned to look at them. "Here we are. The Life Café. Enjoy your evening."

"Thanks, George," she said, hoping the shiver in her voice wasn't as audible as she suspected. She stepped out of the car, and just stared at the café across the street. She didn't even notice when George and the car were gone. She just stood there, taking in the once-familiar surroundings. She couldn't believe it's been so long since she had last been there. It looked just like the last time she saw it.

Mark took her hand in his, shaking her from her reverie. "I figured that shock therapy was what you needed."

"Are they…" she started to ask, but something in his eyes answered her question already. They were there. For a moment, she was a bit angry with Mark making this decision for her, but then she stopped herself. What was she doing? Those were her friends, the closest thing to a family she ever had. And she missed them. Shock therapy _was_ what she needed. She answered the silent question in Mark's eyes with a simple nod, and together, hands still joined, they crossed the street.

He opened the door for her, and she slowly walked in. No one seemed to notice their entry. The place was as packed as she remembered, even though it wasn't the weekend. She recognized none of the staff. There was music in the background, but she hardly heard it as she followed Mark somewhere at the back of the café.

They sat with their backs to the entrance, but as if they could feel them approaching, they turned as one. Her eyes filled with tears in spite of herself. Slowly, without even realizing it, she let go of Mark's hand, and stepped forward, straight into Collins' outstretched arms.

"Oh my God, girl, look at you! You look stunning! Not that I expected any less from you, but still!"

"Easy, Collins, she just got here," said Roger, and took her in his arms the moment Collins let go. He had the same smell, she thought. That masculine, irresistible scent she always associated with Roger. "Good to see you, Momo."

She couldn't speak. She just couldn't. Tears choked her throat, making speech completely impossible. She buried her face in his jacket so they wouldn't see her cry. Roger didn't say anything about it, just rubbed her back, soothingly and discreetly.

Gradually, she calmed down. She looked up at him and finally found her voice again. "I'm so sorry, about Mimi." She wanted to kick herself. She didn't see him for years and the first thing she said just _had_ to be about his dead girlfr... wife. Ugh.

To her surprise, he didn't look that devastated. He nodded. "Yeah. Me too. She would have been so glad to see you again." He looked at her, a goofy grin sending his sadness- and hers- away. "You look amazing."

She blushed. He seemed to notice. "Are you still writing?"

"A bit. Don't have much time for it, unfortunately. You?"

"Same. There were some talking about a solo album at some point, but as things are right now, it's on hold."

He made a face. "Make sure not to include that awful song about the latte boy, eh?"

She pretended to be offended, and hit him playfully on his chest. "That _was_ a good song, Roger!"

"Yeah, whatever!" he laughed, and they all took a seat.

"Hey, where's Joanne?"

She raised her head when she heard Mark's question. That came as a surprise. She wasn't expecting Joanne to show up there, too.

"On her way, or so she was half an hour ago. We kind of hoped she'd get here before you, guys," Collins replied, sipping his beer. "So what are you guys having?"

Considering that the last time she ate was sometime during 1PM, she thought she could use something right now. A salad, maybe. Or maybe she'd go really crazy and have-

"Sorry I'm late, guys, there was this phone call I had to-"

She turned at the sound of the familiar voice, and her eyes met Joanne's. Joanne's voice trailed off, and she let out what definitely was a squeal, so unfitting for the tough-looking business suit she was wearing. It was kind of awkward, thinking back on the day when their relationship ended, the day she left. But it was all behind them now. Besides, Mark wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for Joanne.

She smiled and left her seat, nearly knocking Joanne over with a tight hug. "Hi, Honeybear," she whispered playfully.

Joanne laughed softly, hugging her back. "It's great to see you. I saw the article this morning. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"Hey, Jo, where's Heather?" Collins asked when they took their seats.

Joanne sat next to Roger, across from her and Mark. "She couldn't make it."

"Who's Heather?" she asked.

"That's Jo's girlfriend," said Roger. As her gaze fell on his hands, she suddenly noticed the golden wedding-band on his finger, a bitter-sweet remainder of the girl he loved. "Or shall I say, Jo's new Honeybear?"

She stopped herself from sticking her tongue at him. Luckily, this was the moment the waitress chose to show up. After much difficulty, they gave her their order, and she disappeared among the crowd again.

She leaned back in her seat, letting her gaze wander from Collins to Roger to Joanne. It felt so amazing just being there again with them, as if she never left. But she did leave. It felt as if so much happened since she did. She wasn't part of their lives for a long time, and they weren't part of hers.

She toyed with the idea for a moment. The ultimate, inevitable 'what if'. The million dollar question. What would have happened if she never left? But then she realized she couldn't have known, she could never know. She had no regrets. This was what she always wanted, what she was meant to be. No, absolutely no regrets. Only now, sitting there at the Life, surrounded by those people she loved, the doubts of the previous day began to fade, the emptiness she felt a bit over 24 hours ago was slowly beginning to fill.

A smile slowly curled on her lips; a satisfied, confident, optimistic smile.

Sure, life wasn't perfect.

But it was getting there.


	26. Epilogue: Love Heals

**A/N: I want to dedicate the epilogue (and the entire story, for that matters) to the one who brought Rent into our hearts, the late, great Jonathan Larson, who passed away exactly 11 years ago. It's scary to think it's been over 10 years since it happened. **

**I also want to thank everyone again for reading and reviewing. There's some more to come so keep an eye on those author/story alerts. I promise to come back as soon as possible. **

**Final reviews will be great, you know. **

**

* * *

Epilogue: Love Heals**

She forgot how incredible opening nights always felt. All this adrenaline, first responses from the audience, these doubts of whether or not they'd like the show, the combination of anticipation and anxiety for the first reviews… and this time it was two and three times more frightening because she wasn't in her home field. She relented to do this role here in London because it sounded like a real challenge, professionally speaking. She got amazing responses when she did the role in New York, even a second Tony nomination (which she didn't get, eventually), and when there were rumors about a West End production, she was the first they had in mind for the lead. It would make an excellent West End debut, she was told.

She had her doubts, though, at first. It's been couple of years since she did this role, and she had done some other projects ever since. The responses back then were amazing; she just wasn't sure if she could possibly recreate than phenomenal success from back then. Besides, and that was the more pressing thought on her mind, she wasn't sure she could handle living away for so long. New York was in her blood.

But she did leave before, Mark pointed out.

How could she tell him it was him she didn't want to live away from?

They hardly ever separated in the years that passed since that night he came to look for her backstage. They lost Roger and Collins a bit over three years later, with a gap of four months or so between their deaths. It was a hard blow for both of them. It took months before she even took another job, or before Mark left town for one of his projects. It was as if they didn't want to leave one another's side, as if this would be the only way to heal.

And now she was away, 11 hours or so from home. But Mark was away too. He went to San Francisco to get an award for one of his latest documentaries. She knew that while he was there, he'd probably look for some more footage for his next project. Just thinking about the distance between London and San Francisco made her upset. But she couldn't get upset, not now. She had to hurry back to her dressing-room and change. Maybe she'd even manage to-

"Look, you don't understand-"

"I'm afraid it is you who don't understand, sir. I asked you to step back."

She stopped dead on her tracks. Wasn't she a witness to something like that before?

"Can you just send someone to get her?"

"Sir, I don't know who you think you are, but this is a theater. We're in the middle of the intermission, and frankly, Miss Johnson won't appreciate it if someone-"

"Tell her that Mark is here to see her."

She didn't need more than five second to take this in. She grabbed her skirts and hurried towards the stage door.

He looked behind the guard's shoulder when she approached them. He looked weary, his clothes slightly wrinkled beneath his dark trench-coat, and still his features seemed to brighten up when he noticed her. He looked cold; as if even the coat he remembered to put on wasn't enough to shield him from the London chill.

The guard turned as well, and acknowledged her with a small, polite nod. "Miss Johnson, do you know this man?"

Speaking of deja vu, she thought, a small smile curling on her lips. "Yeah. I do. That's my husband," she said, looking straight at Mark.

The guard looked surprised, slightly embarrassed even. "Oh. I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't realize-"

She didn't expect him to. Taken that she hadn't had her wedding ring on most of the time, no one was even supposed to know. Except for some of her devoted fans, maybe. "That's okay, Will. Just let him through."

"Of course. Here you go, sir. My apologies." Will stepped aside, letting Mark in.

She said nothing, just motioned him to follow her. People stopped to look at them as they silently made their way through the hustling halls backstage, curiosity written all over their faces. She ignored their questioning, inquiring expressions. Then, finally, they got to her dressing-room. As she locked the door behind them, she felt his arms being wrapped around her waist. She smiled and leaned back into his embrace, her back against his chest, as he bent over to nuzzle her neck. She closed her eyes, letting him take hold on her. She missed this so much.

"You look beautiful," he whispered.

She slowly turned in his arms, skirts rustling, as she realized he wasn't supposed to be there, but many miles away in San Francisco. There were so many questions whirling in her mind as she looked into his eyes. Behind this obvious exhaustion, they were sparkling with mischief. "What are you doing here?"

He gave her a look. "Did you really think I'd miss your opening night?" She smiled. He never did. "Unfortunately, by the time I knew I'd be able to make it, all the good seats were completely sold out. I have to watch you from the last row of the stalls."

"You don't, now," she replied, raising her hand to caress his cheek. He needed a shave but she actually didn't care. She liked that look on him. "I can't believe you're here."

"Happy anniversary," he smiled, pulling her closer for a lingering kiss. She should have known he wouldn't break their promise, to be together on their anniversaries, whatever it took. It was the one agreement they tried to keep, no matter what. It was so hard to believe it was their forth anniversary already.

"You look tired," she noted, slowly pulling away.

Mark nodded. "It was a long flight, and a bumpy one, so I didn't get much sleep. Then I fell asleep on the tube and almost missed my stop-"

She looked at him incredulously. "You just got here?"

"Straight from the airport."

She shook her head, laughing. "You're crazy. You realize that, right?"

Mark returned her smile. "Maybe, but it was definitely worth it."

Yeah. It was. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. He hugged her back, and they just stood there for a moment, in the middle of her dressing-room, just holding one another.

"I have to change…" she murmured reluctantly, slowly pulling away. "Then I'll find you a better seat for the second act." The front rows were all occupied, so the next best place from which he could see everything was probably the orchestra booth. It was the only place she had in mind. She knew it would be okay with Danny, the conductor. As she reached for her new dress, she suddenly remembered something and turned to look at him. "How's Holly?"

"I called Sophie before I got on the flight. Holly's okay. She's having a great time with my sister. She spoils her rotten."

"I bet," she laughed, but hearing this made her feel a bit upset. She missed her dog so much. But she knew that bringing her to London would probably involve anesthetizing her, and _that_ was definitely not an option. Leaving her with Sophie seemed like a better, safer alternative. As a translator, Sophie worked mostly from home, so they'd keep each other company. Besides, Sophie was crazy about Holly. Well, who wouldn't be?

"Hey, stop this," Mark's voice invaded her thoughts, as if he knew what was on her mind. She blinked and turned to look at him. "She's okay. I'll call Sophie again tomorrow and ask her to bring Holly to the phone so you can hear her. Is that okay?"

She pouted, and turned her back to him so he'd be able to unzip her dress for her. She changed quickly and fixed her makeup. Time was almost up, and she still had to take Mark to a seat.

Someone knocked on her door. "Maureen, you're ready? We're back in ten minutes!"

"Yeah, okay, thanks!" she called back. She unlocked the door and turned to look at Mark, a wicked grin curling on her lips. "Second act… then the party… and then…" she moved closer, her lips grazing his ear. "The after-party," she whispered seductively.

"Sounds like a plan to me," he replied, smiling.

She returned his smile and opened the door. As she led him down the hall, she felt his hand slip along her arm, until he laced his fingers with hers. She didn't realize how much she needed him there until he showed up. This was just the thing to raise her confidence.

Before she could think better of it, she pulled his arm and dragged him to a dark corner. He let out a surprised sound, on which she responded with a small smile as she pressed him against the wall and draw closer. "Thank you. For being here tonight," she said, looking at him seriously.

"That wasn't even an option," he smiled, caressing her cheek. "Break a leg."

She gave him a surprised look. "Not 'sprain your other ankle'?"

He laughed. "I knew you wouldn't let me forget it." Then his laughter died out. He held her around the waist and looked into her eyes. "You gotta go."

"Yeah, I do," she said, never breaking their gaze. She brought his head down for a kiss. Someone might walk over there, she knew, but she honestly didn't care. But then she remembered that all those kisses were bad for her make-up, and she pulled away reluctantly. "We'd better keep some for later, huh?" she whispered breathlessly, pulling him back into the light.

After leaving Mark at the orchestra booth, she returned to her dressing-room to make sure her make-up still looked okay. A quick glance at the mirror assured her that it wasn't smudged or anything, her cheeks were just a bit flushed than normally. They were extremely short in time; she could hear the orchestra's warm-up. They would start again soon. She was about to turn and leave the room when something at the corner of her eye made her turn.

She had this thing with putting photos around her mirror. She couldn't help it. She did it for years. Of course, they changed from time to time; each dressing-room had its different set of photos. She was extra-picky when she packed her bag this time, the smaller bag that contained the things she wanted with her in her dressing-room. She told herself she wouldn't take that much photos this time, but it seemed impossible to decide which ones she wanted with her.

First there was this old photo with some cast members from her old _Cabaret_ days, to remind herself how it all started. Almost side by side with it was a picture of hers in full costume as Magenta, from the time she did _Rocky Horror_ in California. There was a picture of her holding Holly that Mark took, and then a picture of him with Holly, that she took right afterwards.

The next photo had a special place in her heart; she knew there would be forever. She still thought it was nothing but a joke, whenever she looked at the Tony that now laid on a glass shelf in their apartment back in New York. She had never believed she'd get it; it was her first nomination, her first big show, and the other nominees, well… she honestly didn't think she had the slightest chance against them. But she got it. The photo was from the party that took place after the ceremony. They were all there. Collins, Roger and Joanne watched it from home, and met her and Mark where the party took place. She remembered she didn't even know who let them come in there, they just showed up. In the photo the five of them held the small Tony, and Collins and Roger made ridiculous faces at the camera. She remembered she laughed so hard when she had first seen the photos. She told Collins she'd kill them if they'd think of making those faces at any of her wedding photos.

Apparently, her threat wasn't clear (or effective) enough, for at her and Mark's wedding day, they did just that. She had two photos from that day. One was of her and Mark, the other of the five of them again (six actually, with Heather), Collins carrying her in his arms with that smug expression saying "I told you" written all over his face. It turned out to be her favorite photo. And now that they were gone… its value seemed to increase. But then again, no photo could truly capture their friendship in a way she knew she would always remember, one way or another.

She took one last look at the photos before turning off the lights and leaving her dressing-room. Moments, incidents, a blur of memories, snapshots of their lives, all mixed into one, whirled in her head, leading her way.

_If you'll ever get into Broadway, I promise I'll be there in the front row on opening night._

_It helps me. It gives me something nothing else does. _

_So, do you like our young filmmaker?_

_I know the truth, Maureen. Too bad I found it a little too late._

_You finally let someone in, haven't you? You finally like someone!_

_Parents shouldn't bury their children like that, it's just so fucking wrong… _

_You're wearing his ring now, huh? That's so cute. So 5o's._

_I don't like being the other woman, Maureen. Either you're with him or you're with me, but you can't have both._

_Did you cheat on Mark a lot, would you say?_

_Mark, there's something you should know. There's someone else._

_I want you to promise… that you'll watch Mark._

_I don't want her to go. Isn't it a horrible thing to say?_

_Go to him. We both know the truth._

_You are my knight on a white horse, Marky._

_You'll see that in no time, you'll care too. It's unavoidable._

And boy, she couldn't believe how true Collins' promise turned out to be.

As she hurried down the hall towards the stage, she pretended to hear their voices, wishing her luck, leading her on.

_April…_

_Angel…_

_Mimi…_

_Collins…_

_Roger…_

By the time she got onstage, she knew there was no reason to worry about. She'd be fine. She had guardian angels. And Mark was right there, only a small distance away. They were all watching her. But now it was time to clear her mind of anything but the second act ahead. She had to go up there, and just… do her thing.

On her own.


End file.
